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Copyright, 1894 , 

By Mrs: Rufus W. Smith. 


TO MY PUPILS 

THIS VOLUME IS DEDICATED. 

EACH CHAPTER CONTAINS A LESSON FOR THEM. 


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THE NOVICE. 


CHAPTER I. 

Though Wisdom wake, Suspicion sleeps 
At Wisdom’s gate. — Milton. 

T he long afternoon was passing; the leafy shadows 
without were lengthening into shade; the lattice emitted 
pale bars of light, which were vanishing from the walls 
within. 

A slight breeze from the open casement wafted a muslin 
cap from the head of a young girl kneeling upon the floor. 
The lingering sunlight glinted the brown hair into a coronal 
of glory such as an angel might wear. Her Grecian features 
would be lovely in repose; but now they were marred by 
muscular contractions, which indicated some extrem.e suf- 
fering. Was it mental or physical pain? The firmly 
compressed lips were those of a stoic, who would rather die 
than complain of either. 

Homeless and desolate, although she was resting amid 
rare surroundings. l^ow her attention was directed to a 
large volume of photographic scenery, which lay open upon 
an ottoman before her. She had been turning the pages in 
a listless manner, which indicated that she expected neither 
profit nor pleasure. 

She was nervous, as if apprehensive of some boding evil; 
the leaves beneath her fingers seemed to startle her when 
rustled by the soft wind. Suddenly she uttered a note of 
joyful surprise; then she murmured, “Sookeetonchee ! Sugar- 
foot !” 


2 


THE NOVICE. 


The busy man across the room turned with haughty stare. 
He was surprised at such audacity in a nursery maid; she 
ought to have suppressed any visible emotion in his august 
presence. 

Before he could utter one v/ord of reproof, his attention 
was directed to the transformation in the features of the girl. 

The facial lines, no longer rigid with repressed torture, 
were curved now into bewitching smiles. The long fringe of 
eyelashes unveiled the violet depths beneath them. 

The man knit his brow closely while he scanned her 
expression; then he bent forward cautiously to examine the 
picture beneath her fingers. 

He saw only a broad stretch of waving prairie in the fore- 
ground; beyond that was a low, massive dwelling, sheltered 
by tall, narrow-leaved trees; near by an artesian well was 
flowing, where an Indian pony was slaking his thirst. 

The man glanced from the picture to the upturned face 
of the girl, but he saw no connection between the objects 
there and the expression of her face. He moved back 
quietly, muttering half audibly, “fool !” 

Again he was assorting the tape-bound papers, but they 
failed to arrest his attention. His soliloquy afterwards had 
no reference to his business. 

“Would she, this nursery-maid, pose for my admiration? 
/, a Southern-born gentleman, with a long line of aristo- 
cratic ancestry? How dare she?" If he should reprove her, 
she would know that she had succeeded in winning his 
attention. He looked again with renewed surprise; the 
golden rays of light were gone, and the glorious beauty had 
wilted like a broken flower. The eyelids veiled again the 
brilliant orbs beneath them, and the face had assumed its 
same pale, frozen outlines; even the book had slipped away, 
and tum.bled down upon the carpet. 


THE NOVICE. 


3 


How could a few beams of soft light cofxvert a sphinx 
into a Madonna? He knew that light could only add a 
warmer tint to the cold features; that the emotions were the 
real sculptors, which could efface the sharp, stiff lines of 
fear or resentment, and then curve the facial muscles into 
lines of beauty. 

“Pshaw! excited by the picture of a pony; she has no 
feature of an Indian; she must have belonged to a circus; 
she admires ponies; she may have been an equestrienne 
who had fallen in the ring; possibly she was hurt, and left 
behind when the company went on; being out of employ- 
ment, she knew nothing but nursing.” 

While these thoughts were passing through the mind of 
Gerald Bradford, he was turni.ng over various bundles for 
one which he now found; its contents soon rendered him 
oblivious to nurses, ponies, and circus riders. 

To the girl that picture had recalled visions of a real past, 
too bright to be fadeless, too sacred to be mentioned in a 
household where she claimed neither friend nor associate; 
no one knew her past nor understood her present position. 

A careful observer, not prejudiced by her vocation, could 
see more in her bright, restless eye, and in the movements 
of her well-poised head, than the outlines of a mere bread- 
winner. 

The young girl rose 'with a sigh, picked up the album, and 
replaced it; then she returned to her forgotten charge, who 
was building block houses upon the floor. As she knelt 
beside him, the boy looked up and said to her, “Lucile, spi- 
ders can build houses much finer than ours, I think.” 

“Yes, theirs are spun from the finest silk, but they would 
not do for us.” 

“I should think not; I could tear them v/ith my little 
finger.” 


4 


THE NOVICE. 


“They can bear only the light tread of little spiders.” 

“Did you brush down the one that we saw in the rose 
bush?” 

“Oh, no! I could not do that; I could not destroy their 
honne.” 

“Wasn’t it pretty, though, with sparkles of dew upon it?” 

“Yes, it made me think of an angel’s tears.” 

The man looked up in spite of his resolution not to do so; 
he was thinking, “Possibly she has seen living imitations of 
angels, wings, clouds, and all such accouterments, upon a 
theatrical stage.” 

There was a sad expression on her face; was she pining 
for her former position as an actress? 

“Lucile, do spiders make webs to catch dew?” 

“No, their webs are made to catch flies.” 

“If I were a fly. I’d buzz away from there,” 

“You might run into some invisible web, just as the fly 
does, if you had no nurse.” 

“Tut, tut!” came from the man. Lucile glanced up, but 
she saw nothing but a frowning face and a rustling among 
papers. There was a smile on her lip, which soon curled 
into scorn, as she adjusted the blocks into castellated forms. 

“I’m tired of castles, towers, and all that, Lucile; tell me 
a tale,” 

She shook her head. 

“Then tell me, what are sandwiches?” 

“Witches that live in the sand, I suppose.” She replied 
with mock simplicity and pretended ignorance, as she glanced 
at the man. He bit his lip, but did not look up from his 
writing. 

“Uncle Gerald told Judy to put sandwiches in his lunch 
basket, when he was going fishing.” 

“He may use that kind to catch fish,” 


THE NOVICE. 


5 


“Mamma said the Irish girl had hair like a witch.” 

“Well, the fish may get tangled in the hair, when the hook 
is drawn up.” 

“Look at Uncle Gerald,” said Percy in a subdued tone, 
“what makes him pull his mustache? I think he’s angry now.” 

“Pulls them to m.ake them grow longer.” She said this 
in the same low tone. 

“What makes him have a mustache, anyhow?” 

“To keep the dust out of his mouth.” 

The man pushed back the papers, arose, and passed out 
of the room in no amiable mood. He did not deign to look 
at the two, piling blocks on the floor. In the hall he was 
met by a handsome woman, who combined in her person the 
cheerfulness of girlhood with the dignity of womanhood. 

“Mary,” said he sharply^ “I was going in search of you.” 

“What is the matter?” 

“1 want to know where you picked up that impertinent 
nurse of yours?” 

“Impertinent? I thought her a model of humility and 
obedience.” 

“Well, you must keep her out of my library. Her sense- 
less chatter annoys me when I am busy.” 

“You remember the workmen are doing some repairs on 
the nursery, and you rarely spend this part of the day in the 
library.” 

“Well, stow them away in the attic or the basement, here- 
after.” 

“Punish the boy for her shortcomings?” 

“Has she any experience as a nurse?” 

“She said she was willing to undertake anything that 
would not force her into companionship with other servants.” 

“Other servants! I wonder that she used the term as 
applicable to herself.” 


6 


THE NOVICE. 


“She frankly acknowledged that she knew very little of 
service, but she would be as compliant as justice required.” 

“Has she recommendations?” 

“None; when I asked for them, she smiled sadly and 
seemed troubled; then she replied, ‘My face must plead my 
cause.’ I laughed in her face.” 

“She must have dropped from some second-class theat- 
rical company, which disbanded on the road for want of full 
houses.” 

“I asked if she had friends or relatives; she replied, ‘My 
friends have departed.’ I did not inquire where they had 
gone.” 

“Then she is — 

‘Like one who treads alone 
Some banquet hall deserted, 

Whose lights are fled, 

Whose garlands dead, 

And all but (s)he departed.’ ’’ 

Both laughed. Gerald’s annoyance was changed into 
amusement. 

“You spoke of her impertinence.” 

“Well, she says provoking things with the simplicity of a 
child.” 

“It was perhaps through ignorance; she was not at all rude, 
was she?” 

“Not directly to me; but she told Percy that I wore a mus- 
tache to keep the dust out of my mouth.” 

“Ridiculous!” said Mrs. Bradford, laughing. “Percy must 
have been asking her some foolish questions about them.” 

“He was, and the whole conversation was in an undertone; 
their voices were clear and distinct.” 

Mr. Bradford was folding and unfolding some papers in 
his hands, when he said, “Ah ! I have left the very document 


THE NOVICE. 


7 


that I needed most.” He retraced his steps to the library; 
and as he reached the door, Mrs. Bradford called after him, 
“Gerald, I had forgotten to ask you about those pecan 
trees; they have come. What must I do with them?” 

“Ah ! I had forgotten the order; a hur.gry-looking agent in- 
sisted upon supplying me several weeks ago.” 

“Are the trees at all ornamental?” she asked, coming up 
toward him. 

“! really do not know; as the nuts are no harder than 
hazelnuts, they may be similar shrubs.” 

A subdued laugh came from the library. Neither of the 
speakers gave the sound a second thought. 

“If they make shrubs no larger than hazelnut bushes, 
then I can form a hedge between the flower and vegetable 
gardens, which would look better than a fence.” 

The laugh from the half-open door was repeated in a 
louder tone. 

“My!” said Mrs. Bradford, “her stiff, thin lips have at 
last thawed in the presence of miy bright, playful boy.” 

“With you she acts the role of maid; she feels free from 
all restraint when alone with the child.” 

They had reached the library door, when Percy’s voice 
rang out in a loud key, — 

“ ‘The boy stood on the burning deck, 

Whence all but hinn had fled.’ ’’ 

Then Lucile repeated, — 

“ ‘The flames that lit the battle wreck 
Shone round him o’er the dead.’ ’’ 

“Lucile, who showed you how to wave your hands that 
way?” 

“I learned that long ago in a theater.” 

Mrs. Bradford touched the arm of her brother-in-law, and 
put a finger to her lip to enforce silence. 


8 


THE NOVICE. 


“What did they do that way for?” 

“To show how the light flared about the boy.” 

Her face was turned fronn them so that she was not em- 
barrassed by their presence. Her light, graceful form swayed 
and moved for every emotion that she tried to portray for 
the amusement of the boy. 

The listeners near the door moved away. 

“Evidently an actress,” said Gerald. “No untutored girl 
could make such graceful movements.” 

“She may have been on the stage,” and they passed on 
down the hall. 

“What do you think of such a character for a nurse?” 

“Oh, 1 do not know exactly; actresses are usually very 
fond of slang, and they are otherwise coarse in their manner 
of speech.” 

“1 have heard neither from her; she is certainly an im- 
provement upon the careless Irish girls or the stupid Swedes.” 

True, but the worst feature of this case is the probability 
of her having been a ballet dancer.” 

“Why do you object to that class particularly?” 

“Corrupt. A pure girl should not even witness the ballet 
dancers as they appear on the stage.” 

“Yet many of our first-class people attend theaters where 
the ballet is given.” 

“True, some good people endure the sight of the coarse 
ballet that they may lose no opportunity of hearing and see- 
ing our best artists in opera and drama.” 

“Scenic display attracts the lower grade of society.” 

“Yes, while genius and talent command the attention of 
the elite. Pure Art should make no obeisance to vulgarity 
and ignorance.” 

“It is a pity to mix the evil with the good.” 

“Their policy is to draw the evil-minded as well as the 


THB NOVICE. 


9 


good; for both bring the needed money, and the wicked are 
in the majority.” 

“I suppose there is no remedy; to see, or not to see, will 
be the question.” 

“The way to correct this evil will be for the stage to ex- 
clude base performers and to forbid unchaste language, and 
counterbalance the resultant deficit by demanding higher 
prices from the few who attend.” 

“The coarse wit of the stage furnishes fresh bonsmois for 
the fashionable audience.” 

“They learn to like some repugnant things because they 
get used to them.” 

Percy entered the hall, calling back, “Lucile, come on! 
I want to feed my canaries.” 

“It is not time to feed them.” She glanced down the hall 
with a feeling of relief, when she found no one visible. 
Gerald and his sister had entered the sitting room. Lucile 
followed the boy into the side veranda. 

“Let’s go and whistle to the mocking birds in the yard.” 
She had heard voices near the window where the cage hung, 
and she was anxious to have some excuse to get farther away 
from them. 

“No, no, I will see my canaries; we can whistle to them 
as well.” 

“They are in a cage; prisoners will not answer your whistle 
like free birds in the trees.”’ 

“They ought to sing better because they have a fine gilt 
cage.” 

“Golden fetters chafe as much as iron,” said the girl in a 
despondent tone.” 

“Gold is so much nicer than old ugly iron.” 

“One can break the heart, the other can crush the body.” 

The girl’s face was clouded with sorrow; she was mur- 


10 


THE NOVICE. 


muring to herself, “If he had only been poor then!” 

“Gerald!” whispered Mrs. Bradford. 

“Hush !” said he, but the nurse and the boy had vanished 
with the first whisper. 

“ ‘Prisoners, fetters,’ Gerald!” but he was lost in thought, 
and did not reply. 

“Do you suppose she is an escaped prisoner?” Gerald 
shook his head. 

“Gerald, do you hear? What must I do?” 

“Do what?” he replied absently. 

“Do with this girl?” 

“Keep quiet, and watch her words and actions.” 

“She may be a murderess, Gerald.” 

“Never in the world.” 

“Then she must be a thief. I can not trust my child with 
a thief. My beautiful boy, she might sell him to some band 
of Gypsies.” 

“Keep quiet, Mary, she may hear you.” 

“What if she does? I can not have a thief in the house.” 

“Mary, do be patient; we may make other discoveries: 
one thing is certain, she is no thief.” 

Gerald Bradford passed on down the hall, then into the 
street, on his way to the post office. He was so deeply en- 
grossed with conflicting thoughts and baffling surmises that 
he returned salutations without recognizing the voices of his 
best friends. He was studying the case of this girl from all 
points of observation.. 

She was evidently lost from those who were once her 
friends, or possibly abandoned by them; she might prove to 
be the leading clue to some important lawsuit. He enum- 
erated to himself his most obscure cases; none in v/hich he 
was employed, seemed in any way to point to her. 

Theaters, actors, shows, showmen — yes, now he remem- 


THE NOVICE. 


\\ 

bered an actor found dead in some theater. The man as 
described must have had the same complexion as this girl; 
he may have been her father or brother. 

Thus the imagination leads one a wild-goose chase, far 
beyond the reach of reason. 

After receiving his mail, Mr. Bradford turned his steps 
homeward; he decided to look up the paper concerning the 
dead actor, for more minute particulars. If the girl could 
be surprised by some remark, or startled into some confes- 
sion, he would — a — he would — his determination halted. 
He would what? Certainly he could not entangle this fair 
child with crime by forcing her to betray herself. 

As he turned the knob of his own door, he said to himself, 
“If she were suddenly startled, I think that I could detect 
the sign of guilt, if there were any, in her face. 

“Any letters, Gerald?” 

“I do not know, Mary; I will examine the 'mail and see.” 

“Really, you must have had startling news by the way; you 
look worried.” 

“No annoyances on the way;” said he smiling, “that is, if 
you meant that I was hindered by some lady friend.” 

“What a bear you affect to be 1” 

“Let me see. I think that I met some ladies, but for the 
life of me, I can’t recall them; no, not a single face.” 

Mrs. Bradford leaned back in her rocker, closed her lips 
with an air of supreme satisfaction, while she murmured to 
herself, “Not mortgaged yet.” 

Gerald Bradford was turning over the letters in his hands, 
and knew nothing of her murmurings. His thoughts were 
turned in another direction. He asked, “Does Lucile know 
that her letters should be addressed to our number?” 

“Indeed, I never thought the subject of sufficient impor- 
tance to inquire. Why do you ask?” 


12 


THE NOVICE. 


“I am curious to know more about that prison affair. A 
link there might lead to an important revelation.” 

“Now, Gerald, don’t you interfere with her possible esca- 
pades, and run her off; for she is a good nurse, and she might 
fall into a more degrading position than she finds here.” 

“Fickle and perverse like the rest of your sex. A few 
hours ago you were more ready to drive her away than I , and 
that, too, upon suspicion which rested upon a mere thread,” 

“Well, a woman’s intuition is not always so correct as her 
afterthought.” 

“You mean her reason.” 

“No, indeed! We are not supposed to have any reason 
at all; but pray, sir, upon what, if not suspicion, do you base 
your surmises?” 

“My researches are based upon circumstantial evidence, 
and not upon suspicion, in order that I may justify the inno- 
cent and bring punishment to the guilty.” 

“It is the same thought in better language; but tell me, 
would you like to see a poor, friendless girl convicted of 
crime, even if she was guilty? Or would you find any sat- 
isfaction in hurrying her to the gibbet, if it was proved that 
she was a murderess?” 

“No, no, of course not; there is no pleasure in any of those 
things. The lawyer must not consider his own emotional 
nature, but trace the course of the law: follow where justice 
may direct.” 


CHAPTER II. 

A Clue. 

OOME days later Gerald Bradford walked into the sitting 
room with the morning mail. His lip was firmly set, 
as if some new resolution had been formed. 

“Mary,” said he, “send to the express office for a box 
from Louisiana.” 

“What sort of box?” 

“I do not know; it may be a hedgehog for that pecan 
hedge.” 

Mrs. Bradford laughed immoderately, and the laugh was 
echoed in a subdued tone at the window, where the nurse and 
the child were looking out into the street. 

“Why, Gerald, what on earth do I want with such a 
creature?” 

“I have no idea what it may be; I told the agent to send 
some tropical curiosity for the money that I gave him, when 
he pleaded his poverty and misfortune.” 

“What v/as the box labeled?” 

“The bill said yoncopins, if you know what that is. It may 
be another kind of hedge tree, for all I know.” 

“There was a stifled laugh from the window; he glanced 
around in surprise, and found the face of the nurse radiant 
with smiles, while her hand was checking any audible expres- 
sion of mirth. 

“Lucile!” said Mrs. Bradford sternly. 

“Please excuse me. I had forgotten that I had no right 
to laugh in this presence.” She was affecting to appear 
demure, while her lips were still wreathed in smiles. 

The stern gaze of Gerald was fixed on the girl, when she 


14 


THE NOVICE. 


looked up; in a moment the smile was changed to haughty 
scorn; she turned to the boy and said, “Come, Percy, we 
must gather flowers for the dinner table.” 

“1 won’t go ! I want to see the horses go by in the street 
out there,” 

“Here goes kitty,” said Lucile, tapping the cat with her 
foot to make her run, “let’s give her a chase before she 
reaches the hall door.” She stepped lightly but swiftly away, 
and the boy ran after her. 

“Now they are out of hearing, tell me what you have 
learned with reference to this nurse.” 

“Do you think any news concerning her of sufficient im- 
portance to be inquired after?” 

“You are always reminding me of some careless speech 
or some inconsistency; with such a Solon I ought to become 
perfect.” 

“Well, then, you want to hear something more about this 
nurse of yours?” 

“I am quite indifferent, I assure you; 1 think that I have 
not manifested half the curiosity that you have.” 

“I have another clue, but as you don’t care to hear it — ” 

“I didn’t say that I did not want to hear it.” 

“Then you will listen only to please me; thank you. I have 
another clue.” 

“Another clue? What is it?” 

“Did you observe how quickly she found some excuse for 
leaving the room when she saw me scanning her face?” 

“Cowardice is a sign of guilt.” 

“The guilty flee because they do not know how much of 
their crime has been discovered,” 

“But that clue, is it a link in your chain of circumstaniial 
evidence?'' 

“I’ll leave you to determine. As I passed up the street. 


THE NOVICE, 


15 


I saw the nurse and boy hurrying along as if something of 
special interest lay before them; I was curious to know—” 

^'CuriousF No, men have no curiosity, you know,” 

“True, it is a feminine term.” 

“Well, I’ll excuse it; go on.” 

“For once, I was curious; I wanted to know where they 
were going so early in that direction.” 

“They were not going to the Park, then?” 

“No, not to the Park; and it was something more than an 
ordinary walk.” 

“The wretch ! I’ll not trust my boy with her again. How 
dare she?” 

“Don’t jump at conclusions, for no ill has as yet befallen 
the boy.” 

“No, and never shall by her.” 

“Come, don’t make mountains of molehills; so far no harm 
has been done. They went into a Catholic church — -and — 

“Catholic? Do you suppose she wishes to make a pros- 
elyte of so young a child?” 

“No, no; possibly she was afraid that we would object to 
her if we knew that she was a Catholic.” 

“She may have some superstitious notions about failing to 
attend her church.” 

“Superstitious! Do you call it superstition when one is 
afraid to neglect any religious duty?” 

“Now, Gerald, you know very well what I meant. I thought 
that she might have attended church service through fear, 
rather than through a sense of duty.” 

“Fear God and keep his commandments.” 

“And that clue of yours goes back to the Bible, and I sup- 
pose it will all end in a long sermon.” 

She clasped her hands on the back of her head, in a 
listening attitude, and began rocking herself slowly. 


16 


THE NOVICE. 


“Will you select the text?” said he smiling. 

“The clue, of course.” 

“At the church — ” 

“What if she is a Catholic? Some of our other nurses 
were Catholic too.” 

“I have no objection to her creed; that v/as not all I saw.” 

“Your deliberation makes me nervous.” 

“I followed the nurse and child into the church; she led 
the boy to a seat and gave him a book. Then she left him, 
went farther up, and there knelt devoutly before a shrine.” 

“Then she has at least a conscience.” 

“Ah, yes! her look of anguish was indescribable; large 
tears flowed over the upturned face, and her lips moved in 
silent prayer.” 

“Was there any sign of remorse?” 

Ah, no! If she was in any way connected with crime, it 
must have been incidentally. I felt like a thief, stealing a 
glimpse of a communion too sacred for mortal eyes.” 

“Dear me! You are ridiculously sentimental over the 
excessive devotion of a servant girl,” she said with a touch 
of scorn. 

“You misinterpret my feelings and actions; sentiment has 
nothing to do with this search for evidence.” 

“Well, if that is all, pray keep your m.otives to yourself; 
if she find that you care to notice her, it may lead her to 
be presumptuous.” 

“Do you wish to hear the rest of my story, I mean ser- 
mon?” said he smiling. 

“What else did she do?” 

“While she knelt, a priest came down the aisle on the 
other side of the chapel; the first sound of his peculiar cat- 
like tread startled her; with pale face and frightened eyes, she 
arose, seized the boy by the wrist, and hurried out of the — ” 


THE NOVICE. 


17 


“Where were you all this time?” 

“In the vestibule. She halted near me, listened until the 
footsteps grew fainter, and then rushed out into the street.” 

“Did she see you?” 

“If she did, she failed to recognize me; but her fear changed 
to a flush of anger.” 

“What is your interpretation of all this?” 

“I am undecided in my opinion; she seemed to be plead- 
ing for mercy, but for whom I could not determine.” 

“Did you talk with the priest?” 

“No, he did not return, nor did he seem to notice the girl 
as he passed.” 

“Why wasshe afraid?” He shook his head, then inquired, 
“Did you see the girl when she returned from her walk?” 

“No, she went into the nursery to take off Percy’s wraps.” 

“You must question her about this walk, and I will study 
her expression during the quizzing.” 

“Shall I call her now?” 

“Yes, before she recovers her composure.” 

“I remember her dejected appearance when they were 
standing on the veranda.” 

“I will touch the bell button for you.” 

Soon light footsteps descended the stairs, and there was the 
stamping of wayward feet when they reached the lower floor. 

“I won’t go to mamma’s room; you come the other way 
yourself.” 

“No, no; the bell rang for me, and I must obey.” 

After pulling and coaxing without success, she murmured, 
“Like a frail bark I’m tossed by contrary winds, and I may 
yet end in shipwreck, if I escape all else.” 

“What does she mean?” whispered Mrs. Bradford. 

“Some of her theatrical gibberish, uttered for our especial 
edification.” 


18 


THE NOVICE. 


“Then she must have heard Virgil dramatized; and she 
ought to have added, ‘and fragments strewed the sea.’ ” 

Finally the girl and Percy stood in the door. The girl 
was as limp as some wilted plant upon which a blight had 
lately fallen; one arm hung as if lifeless at her side, while 
the other was raised wearily when she pressed her hand to 
her forehead, and brushed back the cumbersome nurse’s 
cap. With a look of inquiry she awaited the commands of 
her mistress. 

“Lucile, what were you saying about the winds and waves?” 

She was confused by this unexpected question. 

“1 was not conscious of thinking so loud; 1 must have 
formed the habit while — ” She blushed, hesitated, and 
pressed her hands together, as if she had forgetten herself 
and did not know how to recover. 

“While what?” said Gerald Bradford sternly, “girl, don’t 
trifle with your superiors.” 

“I think — 1 suppose — it may have been when I was young.” 

“That indeed ! That must have been centuries ago; you 
look very ancient; you are perhaps Queen Dido, dug from 
the ruins of Carthage and revived by transfusion.” 

“I might have descended from Juno, but Dido — -I would 
not have committed suicide for Aeneas.” 

“Juno? Proud like her it is true, but of what avail is 
pride for a servant?” 

Her lip was touched with haughty scorn when she replied, 
“Had Aesop no reason to be proud, though he had been a 
slave?” 

“Another Aesop was an actor; perhaps you would prefer 
him as a model.” 

“My pride does not foster ambition.” 

“Then, why do you practice elocution and gymnastics in 
my library?” 


THE NOVICE. 


19 


She was puzzled; what did he mean? Where could he 
have been when she was amusing Percy by a childish reci- 
tation? Was that act passing the bounds of a nurse's 
privileges? She did not answer. 

She was wondering if this house were a whispering gallery 
like some of which she had read. Even her thoughts 
seemed to be thrown back to her by one who had heard them. 

“Lucile, you must know your place; you are not expected 
to join in the conversation of the family.” 

Lucile was not offended at this command; it gave her 
promise of relief in one way: she would now have some 
excuse for refusing to answer the cruel questions with which 
Mr. Bradford continued to pelt her. 

“I prefer to obey you,” said Lucile in a low tone, as she 
was preparing to leave the room. Then she stopped to say, 
“I thought you rang for me; please excuse me for coming." 

“Stay; I did ring for you and Percy.” 

“My son, did you have a pleasant walk this morning?” 

“Oh, yes, the walk was nice enough, but the church was 
prettier than anything.” 

“What did you see there?” 

“Great high windows; they had blue panes of glass, and 
some were red, and yellow ones, and green mixed in, too. 
I saw a great big basin of water; Lucile washed her face 
with one finger dipped in it.” 

“Didn’t you wash yours, too?” inquired his uncle. 

“No, I didn’t want to.” 

“Did you see any person there?” 

“I saw big pictures, and real boys in white gowns.” 

“What were they doing?” 

“Singing at the big organ, but there was no preacher.” 

“It was a rehearsal of the choir;” explained Lucile, “they 
were in the organ loft.” 


20 


THE NOVICE. 


"I sang too; can’t I sing, Lucile?” 

She nodded in reply, and smiled pleasantly on the boy. 

Mr. Bradford was silent; he was watching the face of the 
girl; if he expected any manifestation of grief or fear, he 
was disappointed. It was evident that she dreaded no reve- 
lation from the boy. 

“Are you a Catholic?” 

Without looking up at Gerald, she merely shook her head; 
and he did not know whether she refused to talk, or if she 
denied being a Catholic. 

“What were you doing in that church if you are no 
Catholic?” 

“Do Protestants never visit Catholic churches?” 

“You evade questions intentionally.” 

“I am neither afraid nor ashamed to tell you that I was 
praying, — praying for strength, for patience, for endurance.” 

“What do you want with strength? Why not pray for 
forgiveness of crime?” 

Mr. Bradford’s stern, hard tones startled her at last. She 
looked at him in wonder; she was anxious to ask him if he 
was a Catholic, but her tongue seemed glued to her mouth. 

“Who was that priest?” 

Her eyes expanded, and her face grew pale; but she only 
said, “I did not see his face.” 

“You evade the question again,” said, he seizing her wrist. 

“Hands off, sir ! I am no serf !” and she tore his fingers 
from her arm, where the pressure had left an indentation 
in the soft, white flesh. While he held for a moment the 
small wrist, he was conscious that there was no tremor be- 
neath his fingers, but tenser cords. 

He knew that she had not the shrinking cowardice of a 
criminal; but he saw the flashing eye of wounded pride, as 
she gazed at the bruised wrist. In his eagerness to fathom 


THE NOVICE. 


21 


the mystery of her terror when in the church, he now knew 
that he had gone too far. 

“As a lawyer tracing a possible clue, I may have hurt 
your feelings; as a genileman, I could not be rude even to 
one in yowr position.” 

“My line of ancestry may be as noble as yours; why should 
this badge of a menial class me with the vagabond poor?” 

She tore the nurse’s cap fromi her head while speaking, 
threw it upon the floor, and trampled it with her foot. 

“Respectful deference is the role that we require of ser- 
vants,” said Mrs. Bradford with a frown. 

“Those who were trained in that way were once slaves, 
and the part suited them. 1 promised to be obedient as far 
as justice required.” 

Percy picked up the cap and handed it to her. Tears 
stood in the eyes of the boy, while he clung to the girl, and 
looked up with a tender appeal in his face. She pressed 
his hand but remained silent. 

“The Protestant churches were much nearer.” 

“I know, but they are always closed except when the 
bells announce a special service, and I wanted to be alone 
with God. He promises to be with us when we are in his 
holy temple.” 

“Did you offer prayer to a shrine?” 

“To the images? No, but I knew that no one would in- 
terrupt me when bowed in that sacred spot.” 

“Did any superstitious fear drive you from the church?” 

She hesitated a moment, then said, “I’m sure that I 
must be superstitious.” 

“Will you admit that you saw an enemy?” 

She did not reply; the reaction after the momentary 
excitement was as much as she could bear; she was very 
dale; she stood clinging to the back of a chair. She turned to 


22 


THE NOVICE. 


Mrs. Bradford and asked, “May I go now?” 

V/hen Lucile and Percy had left the room, his mother 
laughed with much amusement, and Gerald whistled loudly, 
“A new species of hornet.” 

“What shall we do with her?” 

“We cannot expect of her the humility of a negro servant; 
for the latter is always conscious of her inferiority in mind as 
well as position.” 

“Lucile is certainly not ignorant, but then we cannot receive 
a nurse as one of the family; that would be a condescension 
which she does not expect,” said Mrs. Bradford. 

“She neither expects nor desires any intimacy; she never 
ventures in your presence unless bidden.” 

Experience had taught them that nurses who had attended 
colored schools were worse than worthless; they either neg- 
lect or abuse the children left in their care, unless kept in 
close proximity to the mother. The wardrobe of the children 
was exposed to their depredations. Jewelry, fancy articles, 
as well as clothing for other members of the family, had van- 
ished into mysterious receptacles about their persons. If the 
indiscreet owner ventured to hint at the missing articles, the 
real culprit would fly into a violent rage, and leave the prem- 
ises, carrying her booty with her. 

The ignorant country negro, though not learned in the art- 
ful vices of the city thief, v/ill gladly fill any position that will 
take them into that Elysium where town folks’ live. They 
have but little appreciation of wages; any place is acceptable 
which promises plenty of food,— food like white folks’, and 
all the cast-off garments of the family. 

“Now, Gerald, I can not put up with the educated (?) 
‘colored’ girl nor the ignorant country negro; so what must 
I do if Lucile leaves us?” 

“Do you think she will leave?” 


THB NOVICE. 


23 


“She might stay if you raised her salary.” 

“Say nothing to her about leaving; if she proposes to do 
so, then offer her higher wages.” 

“Do you think that money would be any temptation if she 
decides to go?” 

“I fear not; possibly I might buy a rosary for her, and I 
could have a small shrine put up in her own private room.” 

“Ah ! that may do. I will see her about it; but Gerald, we 
must not spoil her, especially after that outburst of temper.” 

Mr. Bradford stood stroking his chin in some perplexity; 
he was amused- at his ridiculous failure. His skill as a lav/- 
yer, so often available in the court room, had failed to extract 
any information from this resolute girl. 

However, he v/as not a man to recoil v/hen he had once 
determined upon a plan of action. If she were a society 
woman, he could easily accomplish his purpose by flattery; for 
what woman and, indeed, what man can resist delicate flat- 
tery, especially when applied with a dash of sentiment or a 
touch of tender sympathy? 

“But pshaw! A servant girl !” and his lip curled in scorn 
while he mused. She might think that he was in love with 
her, and then she would probably be casting soft glances, or 
posing for his admiration. “I cannot play suitor to one in 
her position even to gain a case in court. But as a friend- 
less child she shall be protected while under this roof.” 
He was roused from his musings by Mrs. Bradford. 

“Gerald, I say, v/hat are you dreaming about? You will 
certainly twist off your mustache if you stand there much 
longer. I have been talking to you for at least one quarter 
of an hour, and still you have not said one word.” 

“Excuse me. These streets must be macadamized: how 
those poor horses toil through the stiff, deep mud!” 

“You must carry that case into the courtroom.” 


24 


THE NOVICE. 


“Laws are not made in the courtroom, but they are dis- 
cussed and expounded there.” 

“No matter, you can wait till you get to the legislature, 
and then put that in your bill for improvements.” 

“The city council will look into that business.” 

“Then you should be a councilman.” 

“Well, now I am ready to hear the pros and cons of that lost 
conversation. Were you saying something about crimes?” 

“No; you have crime on the brain, if not in your heart. 

I was asking about dear little Pardo.” 

“Pardo? Well, don’t — use the term dear for the affianced 
husband of Senorita Maria.” 

She wondered if this hesitation meant another feather 
for her cap. 

“You know, Gerald dear, that 1 said it because he is so 
small and so nice.” 

“Well, what of Pardo? Have you heard from him lately?” 

“Lucile’s tramp to that church reminded me of one of 
Pardo’s pictures; do you remember the one with the City of 
Mexico in the distance, and a small prayer house on the 
right?” 

“Yes, I remember the picture and the little oratory with a 
cross on the top. These oratories are erected for the con- 
venience of those passing when the Angelas bell rings at 
sunrise, noon, and sunset.” 

“Pardo saw much in this country to prejudice him against 
Protestants. He said the Americans had no prayer house, 
and that the churches were locked up all the week for mice 
and spiders. ‘Pray enough on Sunday to last all the week? 
No good,’ said he.” 

“1 know he refused to believe that God would hear us when 
our devotions were performed in the presence of others who 
were engaged in conversation.” 


THE NOVICE. 


25 


"‘Pardo v/as alraid to acknowledge himself to be a Prot- 
estant after his return to Mexico.” 

“The Protestants of that country had been so often mobbed 
that his only safety was in silence as to his creed.” 

“He seems to have gone to the other extreme: he is now 
a saloon-keeper.” 

“Not a drinking saloon, but a cafe.’^ 

“He said the people of his country who talked during 
church service were taken to prison by policemen.” 

“I remember a truism that he uttered in the same connec- 
tion: ‘No good man will desire to talk in God’s house; for it 
is a spot too sacred for other thoughts.’ ” 

“Why are such laws not enacted in this country?” 

“We have laws against disturbing public worship; still, it is 
a sad fact that most people lack reverence for sacred things.” 

“Pardo had another painting with blue mountains, rocky 
steeps, and the city of Queretaro, where unfortunate Maxi- 
milian was taken prisoner.” 

“Yes, he pointed out the route pursued by the Mexican 
troops, who rushed down those rugged passes, and surprised 
the Emperor and his guards.” 

“Why did Maximilian take a cathedral in that city for his 
headquarters?” 

“He may have supposed the Mexicans would be deterred, 
by superstitious fear, from entering a sacred place to seize 
an enemy.” 

“Was Pardo in favor of the Austrian ruler?” 

“No, no; his father was one of the Mexican officers, and 
was killed while fighting against the Emperor.” 

“On the background of the second picture was the hill 
near Queretaro, where Maximilian was executed.” 

“Alas for poor Carlotta! She failed in all her attempts 
to raise troops in Europe for the rescue of her husband.” 


26 


THE NOVICE. 


“And lost her mind.” 

“Loving, devoted wife! I wish I had just such a one,— 
a wife who would sacrifice so much for me.” 

“Why, Gerald ! Do you wish a wife to go crazy for you? 
She would be more accommodating than agreeable in that 
condition.” 

“Willing to endure unavoidable pain, — -only willing.'' 

“And, pray, how would you test her willingness?” 

“Such a woman would die for one that she loved.” 

“Die! That would indeed be still more accommodating, 
Carlotta’s insanity was from disappointment: that is enough 
to craze any woman, whether she has a husband or not.” 

“Too true; I have known some women to go mad when 
they failed to get a new bonnet. I think that I will propose 
to some Mexican lady who wears a maniilla on her head.” 

“Pshaw ! Some of those fine mantles cost as much as a 
dozen bonnets; but they are for evening wear, and the better 
class have bonnets besides.” 

“Then, that wife of mine will remain a myth until the 
prices of female attire fall much lower than they now are.” 

“Wives will be slaves to their husbands if they receive 
kindness, with a few words of love interspersed; then, why 
not gratify their tastes in regard to dress?” 

“I thought women loved themselves, and desired their 
husbands to be their humble devotees.” 

“Humble, indeed! Is there no self-esteem in the man 
who remains a bachelor because he has failed to find any 
woman equal to his ideal?” 

“Mary, do you intend for that last remark to be personal?” 

“Let your conscience answer if you accept the question as 
personal.” 

“Well, then, I have other and better reasons for remaining 
single,” said he gravely. 


CHAPTER III. 
The Policeman. 


O EVERAL months had passed since Lucile had ventured 
^ to the Catholic church, and still she was an inmate of the 
Bradford mansion. 

There was a certain degree of reserve and resignation, 
which commanded the respect of her employers . She was 
unobtrusive in the presence of the family, because she was 
conscious that her opinions were not desired and very rarely 
needed. However, she could not repress a smile whenever 
she saw the unsuccessful hedge of pecans, whose spindling 
branches were determined spires, instead of woven fencing. 

Once her resolute silence almost failed her when she saw 
the withered yoncopin on the summit of a mound, instead 
of resting on the surface of a lake. If she presumed to 
explain the cause of these failures, she might be questioned 
as to the extent of her knowledge, and her explanations might 
lead to other suspicions. 

Her replies to the inquisitive boy were cautious, and in- 
audible to the other members of the family; thus she escaped 
much heartless criticism and severe reproof. Her avoidance 
of them gave no offence, as it appeared accidental. 

In addition to heavy law practice, Gerald Bradford had sev- 
eral private enterprises, which left him no leisure to pursue the 
mysterious clue that he expected Lucile to unravel for him. 

Mrs. Bradford could not elevate her nurse, though edu- 
cated and refined, into companionship with herself, because 
her lineage was either unknown or intentionally concealed. 

Percy no longer required a nurse, but he needed a com- 
panion during the constant absence of his fashionable mother. 


28 


THE NOVICE. 


L'j^ib had learned lon^ before that she must control the 
uncurbed temper of the boy, in some mild manner. The 
method must please the mother, and at the same time suc- 
ceed with the boy. This was a trying point to decide, and 
one which she knew required divine help. 

Then her occupation as a menial changed unavoidably to 
that of a teacher, without the knowledge of her employers. 
She selected charming stories and childish histories, which 
aroused such curiosity that he soon became anxious to learn 
to read them for himself. 

Lucile found ample time to improve herself by the various 
i.nstructive books which she found in the well-filled library. 
She was allowed the use of those volumes for the amusement 
of the boy, when inclement days shut them in doors. 

She contrived to make his duties a pleasure; she taught 
him to love God by directing his attention to the order, sym- 
metry, and color of beautiful objects in the vegetable kingdom , 
which spring into existence silently and without our bidding. 

The enchanting Spring was passing; her wealth of bloom 
was strewing her pathway with rich and varied hues. The 
flower department of Percy’s wonderland appealed to his 
reason as well as to his senses. 

The flower garden was the text-book in which Percy 
learned to observe the peculiarities of different plants. 

The stamens, petals, and leaves held a world of wisdom 
for him, while their beauty and fragrance regaled his senses. 
His soul was flooded with love for the pure and the beautiful, 
while these shattered emblems fluttered about him. 

Together Lucile and Percy watched the baby plant, as it 
was nourished by the light and heat of the sun; pale and 
delicate to-day, to-morrow larger and of darker hue. The 
circulation of the vital juices adds new strength to the 
lengthening fibers; later on the ampler foliage expands; and 


THE NOVICE. 


29 


later still the opening bud exposes the crowning flower, and 
its fragrance is wafted far and wide. 

Flowers, beautiful and odorous, whether curative or poi- 
sonous, every one holds a lesson; tireless variety, infinite in 
number, visible tokens of God’s love; enough flowers and love 
for every man. Even though a person may be depraved 
and debased, any evidence of repentance^wins for him the 
prodigal’s meed of love. Is every one thankful for such love? 
This divine spark is so gentle, so delicate, so exhaustless. 
How few persons appreciate and accept this proffered love ! 
May God pity those who are so rash as to spurn it! The 
flowery path leads heavenward: guide the children into it. 

As the mind of Percy expanded, he yearned for a closer 
intimacy v/ith vegetation of larger growth; he glanced at the 
tree-tops waving above the distant Park, then he begged to 
extend his walk there. 

In the Park he found the oak and the hickory fringed with 
myriads of green tasseled blooms; these waved in the air, 
while the young leaves, more delicate, were tearing into thin 
shreds and covering the ground. He saw pendulous stamens 
envelop the sugar maple in a soft mist-like veil; and the 
winged seeds fluttering in different shades of green, yellow, 
and red, before the leaves ventured forth. 

Lucile found much pleasure as teacher for her willing 
pupil. Had it not been so, her health might have failed for 
lack of that variety so aptly called the spicy stimulus of life. 

She was doing her duty, and she felt that her reward 
would not be delayed for the next life. She had almost for- 
gotten her imaginary foes. In the past, she had much cause 
to think them very real as well as fearful. But she saw no 
signs nor had any tidings of their coming. 

Was the delay of her enemies accidental? How could 
that be? Had she not prayed in her most earnest manner? 


30 


THE NOVICE. 


There was no grand display of eloquence for the admiration 
of a human audience, it is true, but her appeal was to God 
himself. Hers was the simple, earnest request of faith, 
which God never rejects. His promiises never fail. 

Lucile found a natural history, v/hich afforded Percy much 
delight; she read to him the printed pages, while he compared 
the living objects; and the variety in his studies left no time 
for them to become irksome. His first hoo\i, plants, pointed 
out for him the vegetable habitation, or domus; the second, 
animal life, described the occupant, or dominus. 

As soon as the young leaves and flowers peep out of their 
coverings, the insect tribes venture forth; they are more 
brilliant in hue and complicated in structure than the plants; 
they buzz around with audible voices, and take possession 
of their leafy home, where they find both food and shelter. 

As the foliage enlarges, the feathered songsters come 
fluttering and trilling as if the trees were made especially for 
them. Their thanksgiving songs may be as sincere as they 
are loud and melodious: God understands their language. 

The mind of Percy, filled with such beautiful thoughts, 
was no longer chafed by his monotonous surroundings. 
His boyish imagination was grasping the unseen objects of 
nature and comparing them with those visible. Are parents 
responsible for the weary longings and ill-tempers of their 
children? Do they fill their minds with beautiful thoughts 
as they cover their bodies with lovely raiment? Are they 
taught that selfishness is a degrading vice, and generosity an 
ennobling virtue? Do they realize that the law of kindness 
includes self-denial? Is our home-life worthy of imitation? 

Chattering sparrows, contending over a morsel of bread, 
teach a moral lesson much more effective than any lecture 
on selfishness. Sympathy for the defeated bird arouses 
in the r.hild a desire to feed and relieve the imagined hunger. 


THE NOVICE. 


31 


and disgust is excited for the selfish victor. The gory ears 
of fighting dogs furnish a homily that ought to deter any 
human combatant from his ferocious purpose. 

If such object lessons do not become too familiar, the 
child will be disgusted, and look for higher, nobler models for 
his own imitation. He will meet in human form the snappish 
terrier, the sneaking cur, the domineering bulldog; but, like 
their humbler types, he will shun them too. 

Though Lucile was permitted to go with Percy to the 
Park, she created no new suspicions by any unusual conduct. 
If she had friends, they sent no letters; if she read, no one 
knew what volumes she selected, except that a well-worn 
Bible ever lay upon her table. 

Once Mr. Bradford asked his sister-in-law if she had moved 
one of his law books; she replied that she never ventured 
to open any of them, as her mental apparatus was incapable 
of digesting such tough food as law forms and phrases. 

During the conversation Lucile left the room, and soon re- 
turned with a book, which she handed him, without speaking. 

“Why, this is the very book that I missed;” said he, “how 
did it get misplaced?” She seemed not to hear. 

“Lucile!” She looked up. “Percy must not use my books 
for a stool; there are plenty of rugs and cushions.” She 
merely bowed her head. 

When Percy visited his mother’s room, he had no com- 
plaints to make against Lucile. He used neither slang nor 
profane words. He had long since ceased to fret for for- 
bidden things and privileges. Percy v/as candid and truth- 
ful; he was manly and polite toward every one whom he met; 
if he was a little willful, he was at least reasonable. This 
improvement was carefully noted by the watchful uncle. 

After the long dull Lenten season had passed, the fashion- 
able world, entered gayly into the festivities of Easter week. 


32 


THE NOVICE. 


Mrs. Bradford was among the first of the lively participants, 
and she was busy with lunches, teas, parties, operas, etc. 

****** 

Mrs. Bradford was arrayed in an evening dress of some 
silken film, resplendent with the Bradford diamonds, when 
she sent for Percy to bid him “good night.” 

He gazed at her ornaments a moment, then said, “Your 
diamonds glitter like bits of glass in the sunlight.” 

“Now, you saucy rogue! You can not appreciate the 
most valuable of all jewels; v/hy didn’t you say they were 
splendid?” 

“What’s the use of those little things?” 

“Use? They are worth thousands of dollars.” 

“God’s diamonds fill the sky when it is clear, and they 
shine all the night; that is the kind I like to see.” 

“Pshaw!” said Mr. Bradford, who was waiting for Mrs. 
Bradford to pull on the obstinate gloves. He was thinking 
that Lucile envied the wearer of those jewels, and had taught 
the boy to hate the coveted articles, which circumstances 
had denied herself. 

When he passed into the hall, he glanced at the nurse 
standing out there; she did not look up, but drew the thin 
shawl closer about her shivering form. Why did she shiver 
just then? Was he so repulsive to her? Of late he had not 
noticed her at all; did she cherish her resentment so long? 
Was she tired of her humble position? After all, she was no 
worse off than the rest of the world; no one is ever entirely 
satisfied; nothing overfilled the measure of our expectations. 

These thoughts were passing through the mind of Gerald 
Bradford, while he was pausing at the door to select his night 
key, and fit it in the lock. There was an indistinct rattle as 
of chattering teeth; was she cold or afraid? Why should 


THE NOVICE. 


33 


she be afraid? He halted a moment, but then he thought 
the noise might have been the rattling of his keys. 

“Gerald, you have left your gloves, and Jane has neglected 
to put in the phaeton robe. Lucile, carry it out there.” 

There was more anxiety than anticipated pleasure ex- 
pressed in the face of the brother-in-law, when he stepped 
into his phaeton. 

“Drive fast. Bob,” was the order to the driver. 

“Is it later than usual?” 

“No” was his only reply. 

When the phaeton halted at the place of destination, the 
driver was instructed to wait for further orders. 

After Mrs. Bradford had performed all the necessary 
details of the dressing-room, Gerald conducted her into the 
superbly decorated drawing-room; and as soon as he could 
excuse himself to his hostess, he returned home. Once 
there, he passed into the side entrance, opening the door 
as noiselessly as possible. 

He had advanced but a few steps when he heard the 
nursery window go up, and Lucile called out, “police! police!” 
Almost instantly a policeman entered the side door. 

As soon as the window went up in the nursery, Gerald took 
his revolver from the library to be ready for any emergency 
As he advanced into the hall, he called out to the supposed 
intruder in stern tones, “Halt! Who’s that?” 

As he drew his revolver, the policeman raised his baton; 
both men stepped back in surprise, and before either of them 
could speak, Lucile fluttered down the stairs. She had rec- 
ognized the voice of Mr. Bradford, and hurried down to 
explain that she had not expected his return, and she was 
alarmed by the opening of the side door. He looked at her 
'with keen scrutiny, as if he doubted her word; but she was 
too much excited to notice any suspicion in his face. 


34 


THE NOVICE. 


“Were you alone in this large house?” inquired the police- 
man in a compassionate tone. 

“Only Percy and myself are here.” 

“And the servants,” corrected Mr. Bradford. 

“They are away too, and the side entrance is usually locked 
at night; I had an idea that the door was being forced open.” 

“How did it happen to be left unlocked?” 

“I suppose it was through the negligence of Jane.” 

“Are you sure no one entered the house?” said he in the 
same stern manner; he was looking for some threads of the 
old clue. 

“I have been near the house,” said the officer, “since you 
left, and I have seen no one enter. 

“Your key was the first sound that I heard after you left,” 
said Lucile. The policeman examined all of the doors and 
windows, but found no signs of burglars. He had known 
Gerald Bradford when the life or death of a criminal de- 
pended upon the magnetic power by which he controlled a 
jury. His judgment was rarely if ever at fault; but now he 
wondered what danger to his household he could foresee, 
or what act of hers had caused his sternness toward this 
trembling young girl. 

How cruel is suspicion! How often unjust! He recalled 
various innocent people whose reputations were irreparably 
injured by mere suspicion. Before returning to his phaeton, 
Mr. Bradford ordered a watchman for his prenriises, without 
giving any reason whatever for his vigilance or his sternness. 

Lucile glanced out timidly between the narrow slats of 
the window blind; she saw not only the policeman, but once 
she thought there was the gleaming badge of a detective, 
when the wind lifted his mackintosh. 

“Mercy! Have they trailed me? What can 1 do? If this 
be an emissary of theirs, my safety rests with God alone !” 


THE NOVICE. 


35 


She was undecided what to do with no friend to consult. 
She needed a lawyer, but she was afraid of Mr. Bradford; 
he was too stern, too haughty, too suspicious of her every 
act; he seemed to be looking for some criminal anyway; he 
even hinted that she might be one. She could not, would 
not, iorgiYQ his insulting manner; what right had he to question 
her motives or fears at any time? 

“They have waited longer than I dared to hope; perhaps 
they have searched for me before. It has been more than 
a year since I escaped. Had I believed that God required 
that sacrificial penance, I would have endured it to the end.” 

In Mrs. Bradford’s parlor, an intimate friend was discuss- 
ing the diseases incident to children. 

“I wish my boy was as robust and cheerful as Percy.” 

“Percy?” said his mother. “Do you admire his style?” 

“Yes, he is a rollicking, jovial fellow now; but you must 
excuse me if I say that he used to be a little bit cross, and 
he was quite thin.” 

“Yes, but you see I have learned to regulate his health.” 

“Then let’s have your manner of treatment.” 

“One with your stringent views would refuse to take my 
advice;” and Mrs. Bradford laughed in her complacent way. 

“Oh, yes, tell us; it is worth knowing if it has improved 
Percy so much.” 

“His health has improved wonderfully; and I believe it is 
best to let a boy go, and not worry so much about his wet 
feet, soiled clothes, and childish pranks.” 

“But my child takes cold, although I am ever so careful 
to keep him warmly clad and out of the wind.” 

“He may be too warm;” said an old lady present, “and no 
shoes at all are better than wet ones.” 


36 


THE NOVICE. 


“Grandma, you know that children now are not like those 
of your young days.” 

“Only different in the management;” replied the old lady, 
while she was thinking to herself, “Young people think old 
ones are fools, but old people know that young ones are." 

“The least change in Rosa’s clothing gives her croup,” 
said another lady present. 

“Give her a cold bath every morning before breakfast, and 
she will never have croup again,” replied the old lady. 

“Cold baths!” she exclaimed with a look of horror, “it 
would certainly kill her ! She is very delicate and nervous; 
she would alarm the neighborhood with her screams.” 

The old lady made no effort to convince her, nor did she 
remind her of the efficacy of the rod in enforcing silence 
She remembered the saying, “He that complies against his 
will, is of his own opinion still.” 

Percy was not so much neglected as the visitors supposed. 
He ate and slept regularly, and that was one reason why he 
had improved so much. His limbs, no longer weak and 
spindling, were strong and well-rounded. His cheeks were 
rosy, and his bright eyes sparkled with intelligence. An 
active brain adds much to physical health. 

Soon after these ladies left, the brisk step of Gerald upon 
the hall floor announced the hour of noon; for he was the 
soul of punctuality. Mrs. Bradford rehearsed, for his enter- 
tainment, the discussion of spring ailments and the thousand 
remedies suggested. 

“I often wonder why more women do not study medicine.”. 

“Do you think they would succeed?” asked Mrs. Bradford. 

“I judge so, from the wonderful cures they claim to ac- 
complish by their remedies and careful nursing.” 

“Pray, tell me, what would a man do without a wife or 
sister to pet and nurse him, when he is sick?” 


THE NOVICE. 


37 


“The nurses take all the credit to themselves, forgetting 
the physician v/ho exposes himself to minister to their sick.” 

“Well, Percy has certainly needed no doctor yet.” 

“Because Lucile looked after his food and clothing.” 

“True, she has been more careful than other nurses.” 

“Percy appears to be devoted to her, and she seems sat- 
isfied with him as her only companion.” 

“What has become of that clue you were tracing?” 

“There have been no further developments since that 
encounter with the policeman.” 

“What do you think now?” 

“She has a history, which she effectually conceals.” 

“She boasted of a lineage equal to yours.” 

“Then, why should she be ashamed or afraid to mention 
any circumstance connected with her kindred or friends?” 

“No one but an inquisitive lawyer would care to ask such 
a question. Let her alone; she is the best nurse I’ve had.” 

“I would like to win her confidence in order to know what 
mystery burdens her life.” 

“Surely, you would not fascinate the girl with some idle 
dream of love just to fathom the m.ystery of her past life.” 

“Pshaw!” said he with some degree of impatience, “am 
I lacking in principle? You surely forget.” 

“What will you do?” 

“Nothing unbecoming a gentleman; justiiia fiatC' 

“It is the law, Gerald, and not you, that demands justice. 
Tell me, is it the judge, the jury, the lawyer, or the law, that 
demands the life of a poor friendless criminal, and sells lib- 
erty to the brutal fiend who has money and friends? Do our 
laws ever allow such injustice, or did I read such a thing in 
some blood-curdling novel?” 

She said this with a touch of sarcasm; but Gerald had left 
the room, and he heard neither of her questions. 


CHAPTER IV, 

A Plan Broken by Raindrops, 

morning, at an early hour, Gerald stood in the yard, 
^ scanning the few clouds arranged in layers about the 
eastern horizon. He was conjecturing whether these would 
be dispersed by the rising sun; he shook his head doubtfully. 
He was seldom thwarted when his plans were laid; he would 
rather be drenched than yield a point, even to the weather. 
His fishing tackle was already deposited in its leather 
case, and the strap thrown over his shoulders. His brown 
suit was faultless, from the close-fitting jacket to the leggins 
buttoned down over his shoes. 

He raised his cap that his broad forehead might be fanned 
by the morning breeze, which v/as thrilling his entire system. 
He had decided that this should be a day with nature; and 
his cares were left with the papers in his desk. 

Nature is unchangeably true to every lav/ determined for 
her; she never delays the time for leaves, flowers, or fruits; 
while man is indolent, disobedient, rebellious, presumptuous. 
How patient and forbearing is our Heavenly Father, when 
we so often deserve to be swept from the face of the earth I 
Now he scans the heavens again to ascertain the move- 
ment of the clouds. Rain clouds generally follow water 
courses; but he hopes they will vary now from their usual 
direction, and be borne away by some favoring breeze. 

“Court convenes next week,” he soliloquized, “and to- 
morrow I shall be very busy. This will be my only day; but 
the fish need not fear me, for I have been no constant pupil 
of Izaak Walton. I may as well take my gun. If I am a 
hardened lawyer, I am not so cruel as to steal a march on 


THE NOVICE. 


39 


a bird or a hare: I make it a point of justice to shoot on the 
wing; then I give them a chance to escape for their lives.” 

He was about to call for his gun, when he thought of the 
possible injury which it might sustain if it should rain, and 
he changed his mind. “Waste not, want not,” he thought 
applied to the careless use or injury of any needed article. 

Lucile stood at the nursery window, watching the same 
strata of clouds. She was wishing that Percy might sleep 
until the sunlight should border them with gold. She en- 
joyed these dissolving scenes, when clouds of silver were 
replaced by those of gold and purple. As each color changed 
to a somber hue, her face seemed to darken with gloom. 

A conveyance stood at the side gate, waiting for a pas- 
senger; but who would venture forth in a probable rain? It 
was not the phaeton, but a two-wheeled affair. Just then 
Gerald Bradford stepped forth upon the gravel v/alk. 

“A cat may gaze at a king,” said Lucile, when she looked 
down at Mr. Bradford. This was the first time that he 
seemed to her worthy of admiration. 

“In a fishing costume! What a fine specimen of the 
genus homo! What a superb figure to put in a coast scene, 
with a fishing smack in the foreground, and dark v/oodlands 
beyond the beach 1 If the opportunity ever present itself, 
I will undertake a sketch of Last Island from memory, as 1 
saw it when a child. I remiember the stories they used to 
tell of the pirates who, after their long voyages, there found 
hiding-places. From a distant ship I have watched the 
dark, moving shadows, and thought that I could trace human 
forms. The manly figure standing out there would make a 
superb model for a pirate chief in the sketch that I intend 
to make. 

While Gerald was watching the course of the passing 
clouds, suddenly there came a gleam of sunlight. “Now I’ll 


40 


THE NOVICE. 


go,” said he. The lines of care that usually furrowed his 
brow now vanished, and they were replaced by a smile of 
hope that lent a charm to his manly features. 

“Nature,” said Lucile, “has done her best for this msn, — ■ 
well-formed for health and strength; a broad, white forehead 
and dark, expressive eyes; a m.assive head, well-balanced for 
mental, moral, and vital power. How could the inner man 
be so debased by cruel curiosity? How could such an intel- 
lect become a willing tool for a suspicious, prying, dogmat- 
ical spirit? I do wonder if the practice of law counteracts 
his natural inclination to be just, humane, and sympathetic? 
The laws of God make men better. Do the laws of men 
pervert justice and crush the defenseless? I must not 
believe that; there is too much at stake.” 

Gerald Bradford was not conscious of the mental photo- 
graph taken from the nursery window. If he had looked up, 
the impression might have been no more than if a cat had 
gazed at a king. Had not fair women of brilliant accom- 
plishments vied with each other in winning his attention? 
Yet, he remained unmoved by their battery of soft glances 
and thrusts of genuine wit. 

He needed no companion when he communed with nature 
in the silent forest. The charm of quiet woodlands, like 
old wine, exhilarates the senses; but, unlike wine in its after 
effects, the animation does not subside. 

The leafy boughs, arched above, formed dancing shadows 
along the sandy way; no sound but the measured notes of 
the brook rippling by, whose melody was broken now and 
then by a drift of leaves or a fallen limb; the silent cattle 
looked up from their browsing, as if reluctant to yield their 
claims to the tender twigs. There was the low fluttering of 
invisible wings, the warning note of the old partridge, and 
the darting of her brood under the cover of dead branches. 


THE NOVICE. 


41 


The horse slackened his speed, because neither rein nor 
whip threatened to interfere with his gait. 

These scenes recalled to Gerald Bradford happy visions of 
his early youth. He wished himself a boy again. How well 
he remembered a country home, built upon a hill that sloped 
gradually to the large gate at the foot. Dark young cedars 
lined the way on either side, leaving a broad avenue between. 

The top of this hill, curving to the left, held a spot sacred 
to the memory of other years, — the country schoolhouse 
and the woodland playground. He remembered all,— from 
the phalanxes of the spelling classes to the rude geometrical 
figures on the blackboard, and his success or defeat on the 
playground. 

Once he saw a frightened team rush madly down that 
hill; and a little brother, falling upon the traces, somehow 
dislodged himself and barely escaped the flying wheels. 
Does not Providence watch over brave boys? 

Gerald Bradford loved to recall these scenes of the past. 
The tiny brooks that he now crossed were but miniatures 
when compared with the stream that flowed through the 
old farm. He remembered the lovely cascade that leaped 
from a jutting rock into a granite basin below, where broken 
rainbows were mirrored in the feathery spray. There were 
the broad, shelving rocks, where he used to play; near by 
wild vines formed a canopy overhead, while their stouter 
branches were festooned into swings underneath. On the 
farther bank, wherever the crevices had accumulated a little 
soil, a jasmine reared its dark leaves and golden blooms, 
wafting its perfume far away; interlocked with these was the 
Indian creeper, with lighter foliage and long crimson tubes. 

Nothing was forgotten: there were the horses and cows 
grazing in the meadow, the fowls picking in the grain fields, 
— all found a place in his panoramic vision of childhood. 


42 


THE NOVICE. 


Tears, actual tears, welled up in the eyes of this lawyer, who 
had worked through many a night to convict a criminal; and 
who, when defending one supposed to be guilty, was just as 
diligent in using every legal technicality and all available 
testimony. Whenever conscience demurred, it was quieted 
by his saying to himself, “It is the law; I am only an exponent 
of the law; I am not responsible for its verbiage.” 

In his business affairs, he had the sternness and inflex- 
ibility of a man; in his love for the beautiful, he had the taste 
and delicacy of a woman; in his regard for the unfortunate, 
he had her sympathy and tenderness. Gerald Bradford 
deserved some credit for his manly character, but much 
was due to his early training. 

The pleasure that beamed in his face at the outset of this 
journey had faded away, leaving his features grave, almost 
gloomy. Perhaps the dark clouds gathering overhead had 
caused this depression; for when the barometer falls, it is 
said that our muscles become flaccid, our nerves are less 
tense, and our spirits lose some of their buoyancy. Gerald 
Bradford brushed his cheek impatiently; he looked up to see 
if some cloud were not weeping over him and splashing 
into his face. He smiled at his emotion, as if it indicated 
a childish weakness. He was glad that none but speechless 
objects were visible around him as witnesses to his folly. 
Was it a weakness, this lack of self-control? Were not 
these pure emotions the evidence of a divine power within? 
Love for the beautiful, the powerful, and the sublime, in 
God’s works, ever gives us purer thoughts, better motives, 
and nobler impulses. We are disgusted with that human 
weakness which dares not be sincere; but we are always sure 
of God’s love and sympathy, even when we falter. We are 
merciless judges of the faults of others, yet fail to see and 
correct the same when present in ourselves. 


THB NOVICE. 


43 


As the clouds grew heavier and darker, he became more 
indifferent to the object of his trip. “The banks of the 
stream will be muddy, perhaps slippery,” said Gerald, “and 
this east wind is lacking in ozone; already I feel the effect 
upon my nerves.” He turned his horse towards home, and 
continued to soliloquize. 

“It is well that I decided to return, for the raindrops are 
falling faster. Mary expects to dine in the country to-day; 
I hope the weather will not interfere with her plans. I 
wonder if she took the nurse and the child; it was not a 
ceremonious dining.” 

As Gerald entered the house, his damp shoes and light 
footsteps made but little sound; he walked on to the library 
before going to his own room, and was surprised to find it 
occupied. The child was asleep on a lounge, and Lucile sat 
before a dilapidated easel on which was a crayon sketch. 
With a look of satisfaction, she said, “I think that will do. 
What a correct picture of the dear old place !” 

“What place?” said Gerald sternly, as he stepped up to 
the easel, and looked critically at the picture. The girl turned 
away but made no reply. 

“Why do you take my library for your studio?” 

She pointed to the picture in the album, which he recog- 
nized as the original of the one she had crayoned. He com- 
pared the two, and was surprised at the accuracy of the copy. 

“For whom is this picture?” 

“My own use,” she responded for the first time. 

“Do you paint?” She bowed her head without speaking. 

“Did you ever paint scenery for a theater?” She shook 
her head. 

“Where did you learn to paint?” She still shook her 
head, and refused to give any other answer. 

“Will you sell this picture?” 


44 


THE NOVICE. 


“No,” said Lucile, as she sat with the crayon in one hand, 
while the thumb of the other passed back and forth across the 
tips of her fingers. The movement was not lost on Gerald, 
for he understood it to be a calculation in dollars and cents. 

“I will give you twenty-five dollars for the picture, if — ” 
as he hesitated, she looked up — “if you will tell me who is 
‘Sugar-foot,’ and what is ‘Sookeetonchee.’ ” 

He watched her face closely, while her features relaxed 
into a decided smile. Then he felt sure that he had touched 
the right chord. He took out his purse and began counting 
the bills, which he placed upon the easel before her; with the 
last bill he looked up to see if she appeared to be satisfied. 
The mirth in her face had changed to haughty scorn; with- 
out deigning a reply, she arose, and brushed the bills upon 
the floor with as much indifference as if he were a serf and 
she a queen. She removed the picture, folded the easel, 
and with them swept from the room. 


CHAPTER V. 

How THE Day Was Spent. 

T he tones of the pipe organ began a prelude low and weird, 
like the grief-stricken voice of a prisoner wailing through 
bars of iron. The sounds grev/ louder and more distinct, 
as if he was emerging from his cell, and his lungs were ex- 
panding with purer air; then arpeggios in a minor key rasped 
like dragging chains, and the nerves of sensitive hearers 
quivered with an indefinable fear; at last, thundering bass 
and bird-like treble fought the air, and broke the spell of 
visioned woe. 

Gerald’s thoughts wandered from the prelude and the 
vision that it suggested, to a real prisoner, jailed on circum- 
stantial evidence. He remembered the piteous appeal in the 
man’s face, and wondered if he could forget that impression 
when he should appear as his prosecutor. If he could per- 
suade the jurors to recognize guilt in the defendant, would 
not the poor fellow’s disgrace be as irreparable as that of 

Jean Valjean? Like the good Bishop of D , could he 

elevate a thief to a plane of respectability, even if the theft 
should be repeated from force of habit? It was the Bi >hop’s 
kindness, and not the legal punishment, that reformed Jean 
Valjean. 

These thoughts annoyed Gerald, and he began reading 
Ths World for diversion. There was the usual list of crimes 
and casualties; but he only glanced at the headlines, and 
looked for more congenial topics. He recalled the words of 
Timothy, “The law is not made for a righteous man, but for 
the lawless and disobedient, for the ungodly and for sinners.” 
“But if there were no sinners,” said he, “my profession 


46 


THE NOVICE. 


would be useless. Conscience and justice approve when 
the rights of the oppressed are defended, even if the guilt/ 
have to suffer.” 

Again the organ peals forth; now in tones of heavenly 
pathos, which are soothing to his jarred nerves. , The words 
of the hymn ring out distinctly, — 

••Sweat is the day of sacred rest: 

Nd mortal cares shall se'ze my breast.” 

How sweet is rest to the laboring man! After six days 
of constant toil, his muscles need relaxation; his cares belong 
to his trade, and he should leave them with his tools. Do we 
really rest on the Sabbath? Physical labor may cease, but 
often the mind worries over the duties of the coming week. 
He who appointed the Sabbath, also commanded, ‘‘5/w days 
shalt thou labor, and do all thy work.” Idleness is a sin often 
punished in this life by disease and poverty. 

* # * # * 

The warm, damp weather acted as a soporific upon Percy, 
and he slept longer than usual. Lucile was now left to her 
own reflections, and she recalled other Sabbaths, when her 
dear mother taught her that she should love God supremely, 
and her neighbor as herself. Could she ever forgive one 
who had called her “fool”? But had she not affected the 
role of an ignorant nurse? Had she not acted foolishly in 
giving way to her temper? How could she manage the boy, 
as he grew larger, if she failed to control herself? 

Temper is a vital force, rippling along in childhood, gain- 
ing momentum as it advances. If held within proper bounds, 
it becomes unlimited energy; if left uncontrolled, like a 
swollen stream, it carries with it devastation and ruin. A 
child’s will should be bent, not broken. Some one has com- 
pared a bad boy to an engine off the track. 


THE NOVICE. 


47 


Percy turi'ed on his pillow. Lucile was undecided whether 
to rouse him or let him sleep on. She had read that strong 
light injures the nerves of sleepers, and she darkened the 
room by closing the blinds. 

She concluded to go down and consult his mother. When 
she tapped at the dcor of the sittirg rccnri, Mrs. Bradford 
asked in a fretful tore, “Is that you, Lucile? Then, take 
the child away; I am busy.” 

“Must I wake Percy, and give him his breakfast?” 

“Dear me, no! Let him sleep as long as he will; for I 
don’t wish to be worried by his coming in here.” 

As Lucile passed through the hall, she thought of a paper 
that contained the Sunday-school lesson, and she ventured 
into the library to find it. 

“What is it?” said Gerald, who was reading a newspaper, 

“The Sunday School Times, if you please.” 

“There it lies on the table,” said he curtly. 

She hesitated a m.oment, and bit her lip in vexation. 

“Why don’t you take the paper?” said he, looking up. 

Tears filled her eyes as she advanced to get it. 

“As if I were only a servant,” she muttered to herself. 
“But what am I? I forget my position. How long can I 
endure this?” 

A Christian home ! The mother busy writing letters, 
because it is too damp to go to church; the brother-in-law 
reading the news. God requires but one day in seven for 
his service, and churches are places appointed for the 
assembling of God’s faithful people. 

If we are prevented from attending church, have we no 
sermons in our libraries? Indeed, if have only the Bible, 
where can we find better sermons than the Epistles to the 
different churches, — sermons full of love, admonition, and 
wisdom. 


48 


THE NOVICE. 


When Lucile returned to the nursery, where Percy was 
sleeping, she read a few chapters in her Bible. Then she 
took from between its leaves a manuscript in her mother’s 
hand7/riting, addressed to herself. 

“This,” said she, holding the closely written paper to her 
lips, “is the talisman that has saved me from despair, and 
given me the courage to escape immurement for life.” 

The contents of the manuscript vv'sre as follows: — 

“My daughter, when you study this book, invoke the Holy 
Spirit; for the hypotheses of men give false interpretations 
to some points. When Moses v/as lawgiver, the Jews had 
not advanced beyond an infantile degree of wisdom; they 
needed parental discipline: God was known to be their Father, 
and the Mosaic law was the expression of his will. They 
loved and feared their Heavenly Father; but, like children, 
they were stubborn and rebellious. Their punishment was 
certain, but not unexpected. As the Jews advanced in wis- 
dom, God ceased to communicate with them through his 
prophets, and left them free to act for themselves. He en- 
dowed them with conscience to warn them against evil, but 
their outward forms of worship failed to restrain their evil 
propensities when they mingled with the surrounding heathen. 
When Christ came, he gave them the law of lou3. The 
Mosaic law was unnecessary when love ruled the hearts of 
men; Christian duty is summed up in love to God and love 
to man.” 

Lucile pondered over these things. There was no mystery 
in all this; no need to search the prophecies, and trace their 
fulfillment in later times to find the true Messiah. All mys- 
tery ends with the Son of God and his Kingdom of Love. 

Lucile turned to another page, and read the following: 
“Study the Discipline of the church to which you belong; 
it is the work of men who are models of piety; obey its rules 


THE NOVICE. 


49 


that you may resist temptation. Above all else, cherish a 
forgiving spirit. Remember the Savior’s words, ‘Love your 
enemies, do good to them that hate you, bless them that 
curse you, and pray for them that despitefully use you.’ ” 

“Ah! then,” said Lucile, “how can I ever reach heaven? 
How can I feel anything but the utmost indifference for him, 
if I ever cease to hate the man that called me a fool?" 
Tears of anger filled her eyes, and her heart was full of 
bitter reproaches. During this outburst of temper, her self- 
examination was forgotten. Percy began rubbing his eyes, 
and diverted her thoughts. 

“Poor child! He will feel dull after so long a nap.” 

He soon opened his eyes and asked to be dressed, but he 
was very languid. The child’s health v/as sacrificed to pre- 
vent any annoyance to his mother. 

0 thoughtless women ! careless mothers ! Beware of 
trifling with God’s best gift, your children. 

“I’m so hungry: hurry, Lucile, and let’s go to breakfast.” 

“No, Percy, you must not leave the room until you have 
said your prayers.” 

“I don’t want to say my prayers;” said Percy, “I want my 
breakfast.” 

She hesitated, then said to herself, “What good will it do 
if he prays unwillingly? I must not carry that idea too far. 
How prone we are to venture on dangerous and slippery 
places ! We must be obedient to the moral code whether we 
wish to or not. Distasteful duties may become agreeable 
ones: I know I have learned to like the care of this child, 
and he may be trained to find pleasure in prayer.” 

“Who takes care of you, Percy?” 

“You.” 

“Who protects you in time of danger?” 

“You.” 


50 


THE NOVICE. 


“Who restored your health when you were sick?” 

“I think it was the doctor.” 

“Who cured your sore toe?” 

“I know that was you.” 

“Ah, no! my dear child, I only dressed it.” 

“Then it got well by itself.” 

“But, Percy,” said she, stretching her eyes in awe, “who 
prevents the house from blowing down when storms come?” 

“Lucile, is the wind coming now?” said he, clinging to her, 

“What do you care for the wind?” 

“I am afraid of the wind.” 

“Darling, God takes care of us at all times, and he can 
preserve us in a storm as well as in a calm.” 

“But will he take care of us in every storm that comes?” 

“He promises to hear and answer our prayers.” 

“Then, let’s ask him to keep storms away from here.” 

“No, no; storms make the air pure, and free from poison.” 

“Did Uncle Peter pray when he fell into the well?” 

“Perhaps he had no time to pray before he was drowned. 
If we wait until danger comes before we pray, we might not 
be able to control our thoughts.” 

When Percy was dressed, he said, “I can say my prayers 
now, Lucile.” 

During breakfast Lucile tried to divert Percy’s thoughts 
by cheerful conversation, for she knew that any excitement 
interfered with digestion. When Percy left the dining room, 
he glanced out of the v/indow. When he saw there were 
no clouds, he was more cheerful; but he was still thinking 
about prayer. 

“Lucile, if I ask God for a pony, will he give him to me?” 

“God gives us such things as we need; but your Uncle 
Gerald might give you one if you asked him for it.” 

“Not Uncle Gerald; he would say, ‘No, you can’t have it.’ 


THE NOVICE. 


51 


I don’t care much about ponies, anyway; they kick so. I 
would rather fly like a bird than ride a horse.” 

“But we have no wings; we must be satisfied with feet, 
which were made to walk or run.” 

“I can do more than that with mine; just see ms jump.” 

“There ! you have dropped your buttonhole bouquet.” 

“God didn’t make flowers; I saw some creep out of the 
leaves.” 

“God sends the rain to make plants grov/, and the sun 
paints their lovely flowers.” 

As they passed down the hall, Percy put his head through 
the library door to bid his Uncle Gerald “good morning.” 

“Morning? Why, my boy, it is nearer noon; your nurse 
must give you your meals at regular hours.” 

Lucile contracted her brows into a slight frown; she would 
not explain why the child had slept so long. 

“You must be down sooner, my boy.” 

“I was saying my prayers.” 

“What sort of prayers?” said he, frowning at Lucile. 

“You don’t like prayers; but I do.” 

“Did you have a string of black beads when you prayed?” 

“No; we don’t have beads when we talk to God, do you?” 

“Doss the uncle ever pray at all?” was the silent ques- 
tion of Lucile, as she stood waiting for Percy. 

“Come, Percy,” she called. 

“No, no; I want to go in here and play with my blocks.” 

“It is the Sabbath; you must not play to-day.” 

“Tut, tut,” said Gerald, throwing down his paper, “what 
nonsense !” 

“Umph! Did you read about nonsense in the paper. 
Uncle Gerald?” inquired the boy. 

“The child ought to play; if he is kept still all day, he will 
dread the Sabbath as a day of torture.” 


52 


THE NOVICE. 


“Sir, obedience is hard when conscience rebels against it.” 

“Girl, do you persist in having your own way?” 

“By no means! St. Paul, in his advice to the Hebrews, 
says, ‘Obey them that have the rule over you,’ and — ” 

“Are you a Hebrew?” he asked. 

Without deigning to answer his question, she continued, 
“St. Peter says, in the Acts, that v/e ought to obey God 
rather than men,” 

“Peter did not write the Acts.” 

“No, but he was one of the actors spoken of there.” 

“All this evasion means that, v/hen you choose to obey, 
you will rest under the shadow of one Apostle; and when you 
do not, you will fly for refuge to another.” 

“Never before have I thought of the significance of either 
passage, or tried to make any application.” 

“What interest have you in the piety of this boy?” 

“I am, in some degree, responsible for his soul.” 

“Why trouble yourself if you believe that he can be prayed 
out of Purgatory; that is, if you believe that innocent children 
will be sent there?” 

“Purgatory!” she gasped in a shrill whisper. 

When he looked up, her features wore the pale, haggard 
appearance that he saw during the first v/eeks after her 
arrival; and her hands were tightly clasped. 

“If you are posing for Lady Macbeth, you are a success; 
your hands may have spots of blood as hard to erase. I hope 
you will not venture forth as a somnambulist.” 

In a moment the blood suffused her cheeks, and her eyes 
flashed like electric sparks; “and you — ,” she said, raising 
her hand, but dropping it as she checked the coming words, 

“Finish your sentence; you are quite dramatic.” 

“You are a cruel Shylock, demanding a pound of flesh 
cut off nearest the heart.” 


THE NOVICE. 


53 


“Indeed !” said Gerald, now smiling at her unexpected 
repartee, “and perhaps you will be the Jessica that will — ” 

“Steal your ducats,” she interrupted. “Is your catalogue 
of epithets complete? Fool, thief, particeps criminis, — all 
based upon the unpardonable sin of being an educated nurse.” 

Geraid Bradford was a descendant of one of those aristo- 
cratic families, whose ancestors were younger sons of English 
peers. These scions of nobility found homes in the South 
before the first revolution; with them descended pride of 
birth, and a haughty disregard for those less nobly born. 
Gerald would have scarcely recognized Lucile on the street 
if Percy had not been with her. He really felt some enmity 
toward white servants, as if their office reflected dishonor 
upon other poor white women. Toward negro servants he 
was uniformly kind and considerate. Negroes were intended 
by nature and by Providence for servants. They are not 
suited for any employment that requires self-reliance or 
celerity in the execution. They are generally failures even 
when “bossed” by one of their own color. As servants they 
are naturally humble, obedient, and faithful. 

Gerald knew that some secret motive had induced Lucile 
to accept a position that other women would consider 
debasing. He had not replied to her last charge; he was 
busy at his desk, reading his paper. The storm of emotion 
that swept so rapidly over Lucile, as quickly passed away, 
leaving her features calm, self-controlled, even pleasant. 
She was undecided as to what course she should pursue with 
the rebellious child; if the uncle would only decide this point 
by sending them out of the room. 

But Percy now begged for pictures, and she took down a 
volume of “Scenes in the Holy Land.” Her explanations, 
whether real or imaginary, certainly delighted the boy; but 
they were in a subdued tone, not intended for the ear of the 


54 


THE NOVICE. 


critical uncle, Percy’s comments attracted his attention. 

“Are all the Arabs women?” Lucile’s whispered answer 
was not heard. 

“Lucile, you promised me a turban.” 

“Yes, some other day 1 will make it for you.”' 

Gerald glanced over his paper to look at the kneeling 
figures upon the floor. Percy had pulled off the hideous 
nurse’s cap, and the waving brown hair, now unconfined, 
hung in a long curling mass upon her shoulders; the coarse 
breakfast shawl and broad white apron completely metamor- 
phosed a finely-formed girl into a very commonplace nurse, 
so thought Lucile. But no style of dress could influence 
Gerald when he attempted to read one's character. The 
broad forehead, the arched brow, the Grecian nose, the thin, 
sensitive lips, were no common types. The long white hands 
and tapering fingers might handle an artist’s brush or a 
writer’s pen with equal skill. Such was the conclusion of 
Gerald when he looked at her. What could be her motive 
for preferring her humble position? Was it preference or 
necessity? Lucile not only was conscious of his close 
scrutiny, but she became irritated and lost her self-control. 
She rose to her feet and replaced the book; then, turning to 
Gerald, she said, “1 am neither Turk, Arab, nor Comanche; 
may I take the child away?” 

“The witch of Endor belonged to none of those races.” 

“Percy tangled my hair when he pulled off my cap; and 
that, 1 suppose, is the cause of your unkind remark.” 

Gerald smiled to see how quickly she caught the allusion. 

“Lucile,” said Percy, “was little Samuel as big as me?” 

“Perhaps he was.” 

“He was an old man,” said Gerald, “when the witch 
called him up for Saul.” 

“Where did he come from?” 


THE NOVICE, 


55 


“He came out of the grave; perhaps Lucile will tell you 
that he came from Purgatory.” 

Lucib had led the child through the door; and, as she 
made no reply, Gerald could not tell what impression his 
answer had made upon her. 

Some phantom seemed to pursue the girl. Was it super- 
stition? He began to feel pity for her in her isolation and 
evident distress. 


“I hear those bells again, Lucile. Let’s go to the door 
and listen.” 

Those distant chimes! those sweet-toned bells! Their 
thrilling notes seem to bear the spirit up, up, — away beyond 
the cares of life. No wonder that the soul of an artisan 
passed out of life when just such sounds arose on the 
Sabbath air ! 

“Mother!” murmured Lucile, “some sweet day those 
sounds may bear rrn away to the spirit land; but not yet, for 
I must complete my mission.” 

So often while in the convent, she had been called to her 
devotions by similar chimes; then she held sweet commun- 
ion with the Heavenly Father. She had remained in the 
convent long enough to find many of their ceremonies beau- 
tiful and impressive. Is there not much bigotry in those 
who would criticise the faith of other churches? Is there 
not a Providence in the varied interpretations of the same 
parts of the Scriptures? Does it not lead to a closer exam- 
ination and comparison of the whole volume? What should 
one care if another takes a different route to Heaven? 

While Lucile stood on the veranda listening to those bells 
she noticed that every church bell had a different note, but 
all the tones were harmonious, — as many different sounds as 


56 


THE NOVICE. 


the creeds taught in the chapels beneath them. “Can any 
one minister,” thought she, “say that God meets in no church 
except the one where he presides.” Surely God is not pre- 
scribed in his actions or judgments; he may pity man’s 
ignorance and even his presumption. The Lord does not 
discriminate in favor of any particular Christian denomina- 
tion; but he says, “Where two or three are gathered together 
in miy name, there am I in the midst of them.” 

“1 am not required to take Percy to church, and I cannot 
leave him alone to attend myself; however, my isolation is 
a surer protection. Were it not for the risk of being dis- 
covered, I might secure a position to teach music, art, or 
literary branches. 

My father’s pew was cushioned with silk velvet; but now 
I should seek an isolated spot, where no worshiper would be 
annoyed by the dust of poverty. I may be morbidly sensitive; 
for now I remember that velvets and kerseys brush by each 
other when God’s people meet around the communion table. 
Poverty is a new experience, much harder to bear on account 
of the contrast with the past. How I realize the beautiful 
words of Tennyson, — 

‘This is truth the poet sings. 

That a sorrow’s crown of sorrow is remembering happier things’ !’’ 


CHAPTER VI. 
Ralph Winston’s Visit. 


\\f hen Lucile and the child left the library, Gerald threw 
down his paper, and walked down the hall to the sitting 
room, where Mrs. Bradford sat reading. As he entered, she 
politely closed the book, leaving just enough opening between 
its leaves to peep in and finish her sentence. 

“Your minister pronounced a wholesale condemnation 
against all novels; and, now, what would he think of your 
reading one on Sunday?” 

“Why, Gerald, this is one of George MacDonald’s; he is a 
minister, you know. His writings are pure in sentiment and 
beautiful in expression.” 

“Every sinner has some excuse for his crime,- — adverse 
circumstances, an irreverent mother to blame, or a friend 
that led him into temptation; as if he had neither reason to 
guide him, nor will-power to control his evil propensities.” 

“Crimes, indeed ! As though I took part in the crimes of 
which I read! Your head is so full of the crimes that you 
discuss in court, I wonder you do not become contaminated 
by your familiarity with criminals.” 

“Do I look ferocious? Perhaps you think I may learn to 
bite, because I keep a watchdog in the yard?” 

“And it seems you think that I shall be demoralized by 
novel-reading.” 

“You could find religious literature to read to-day.” 

'^The Advertiser, for instance,” said she, laughing. 

“I only glance over the paper to keep up with the news.” 

“Is the news any better reading than novels?” 

“Perhaps not,” said Gerald, as he took his seat to discuss 


58 


THE NOVICE. 


another topic. “Mary, do you require your nurse to v/ear 
those hideous ruffles on her head?’' 

“Of course, I do; I selected them and those aprons, too. 
It is the customary style for nurses; I like them because they 
mark her position unmistakably.” 

“She seems to be humble enough unless provoked.” 

“Without the cap and apron, her genteel appearance might 
lead to unpleasant blunders; for instance, some friend of yours, 
on coming from the library, might meet her in the hall and 
be ‘SO extremely glad to see Mrs. Bradford.’ ” 

“Ha, ha!” laughed Gerald. 

“Why, I — I would — eject her from the house at once.” 

“Punish the girl for the blunder of a strange visitor?” 

“Could I bear such humiliation?” 

“That might be unpardonable in a female code of horor.” 

“And she might presume to be social after such a mistake.” 

“She might be impertinent, but social never ! She seems 
to prefer the companionship of the boy.” 

“Do you think her influence is pernicious to the child?” 

“Catholics seem very devout during church services. At 
least, they kneel when they pray; and I remember seeing 
you sitting up during the first prayer.” 

“Why, Gerald ! How absurd you are to-day 1 That was 
last Sunday, when I had on my handsome silk, and I could 
not afford to rumple or soil it by kneeling.” 

“Wear a plain dress, and you’ll forget it while praying.” 

“Where were you with your eyes open during prayer?” 

“I came late, and saw you from the half-open door.” 

“It is your duty to be in time, and not disturb the service 
when you enter.” 

“I was delayed at the post office.” 

“News is not Sabbath reading, and you have religious 
literature in your library.” 


THE NOVICE. 


59 


“If all the members v/ere like us, the minister would 
often find empty benches.” 

“Do you think I ought to go out in damp weather like this?” 

“You have a conveyance, and dresses besides silk ones.” 

“And a brother as an escort!” 

Gerald smiled but made no reply; he was still thinking of 
Catholics and their devotions. 

“Among Catholics the rosary seem.s to play an important 
part during prayer, and they may wear them as a kind of 
talisman against evil.” 

“Every bead of the rosary represents a separate prayer — ” 

“Then, why not wave the string toward heaven, instead of 
praying over them?” 

“You sacrilegious fellow! You ought to have some rev- 
erence for those things that others consider sacred.” 

“I dare say women need rosaries to arrest their attention, 
and keep their eyes off their neighbors’ bonnets.” 

“Gerald, you are an incorrigible cynic: I know very well 
that men need something of the kind to draw their attention 
from their business transactions.” 

“How do you know the subjects of their thoughts?” 

“When a man raises his chin with a grim smile, and fixes 
his eyes upon the blank wall before him, I think he may be 
scheming a corner on wheat, or planning something else.” 

“For instance, some benevolent scheme to aid the poor.” 

“The poor! Men leave them to the charity of women.” 

“Mary, every man on the street recognizes the committee 
women, with their satchels and subscription lists.” 

“Well, if they do, they know also of their good deeds.” 

“Those women march boldly up to clerks, and beg them 
for more cash than they can raise to pay their tailors.” 

“Well, they ought to help the poor.” 

“And the women get the credit for their liberality.” 


60 


THE NOVICE. 


“How do you expect them to raise the money except by 
appealing to those who draw salaries? Other men generally 
have their money invested in some enterprise.” 

“Women that pretend to be benevolent should deny them- 
selves some luxuries, and reserve their savings for this fund.” 

“You forget hov/ often those women give suppers and fairs 
to benefit the church, or for missionary purposes.” 

“Those are swindling 2 .i-fairs, in which they sell articles 
really useless at extravagant prices; this money, too, comes 
from the same young men.” 

“You discourage women in their efforts to be useful.” 

“By no means. Widows are said to be better collectors 
than their husbands were, and these benevolent ladies might 
secure such work from business men; then they could give 
their commissions to the church or to the needy poor.” 

“What 1 Beg the privilege of working for business men?” 
Mrs. Bradford’s face wore a frown, and her lips came to- 
gether like a vice; but they soon parted in a cross tone, as 
she said, “If I thought that all men were like you, I would 
never attend another meeting of the ‘Ladies’ Aid Society.’ ” 

“I am giving my opinion, not my advice; exercise charity 
where relief seems needful, but be very certain that you beg 
only from those who have the necessary funds to spare.” 

“What about raffling? Then every one has a possible 
chance to obtain an article for much less than the cost.” 

“Not everybody: only one raffler is lucky, and the ninety 
and nine are disappointed.” 

“Gerald, you are provoking; if you had been consulted at 
Creation, you would have left woman out altogether.” 

“I am very sure of one thing: God did not intend for 
women to be either beggars or idlers.” 

“I am no idler; for I am busy every moment in the day, 
except when I take a nap to refresh myself, or read some 


THE NOVICE. 


61 


entertaining book to rejuvenate myself, which is necessary 
to preserve my good looks and amiability.” 

“If those two pastimes are the secret of your amiability 
and cheerfulness, by all means continue to read and rest.” 

“That’s a darling brother;” she said, patting him on the 
shoulder as she stood near him, “I know you do not believe 
half the unkind things you say about our sex.” 

“Women are a delightful necessity: they give sympathy 
where others show neglect, they cheer the desponding, they 
never grow weary of nursing or petting those they love. ’ ’ 

“Hurrah for you ! I never heard such praise from your 
lips before; surely, the tender passion is thawing a heart so 
long callous.” 

“Stop ! I did not intimate that I needed one for a wife.” 

“But you are thawing, nevertheless.” 

“Eleven thirty! It is time for the up mail.” 

“But it is the Sabbath, and your religious works are still 
in the library,” 

“With me it is different: one day’s delay makes a serious 
break in my business, Mary, you are growing very pious 
over that novel.” 

“Raining again!” said Gerald, as looked out the window. 

“But you have warm clothes and a conveyance,” 

“And a nice sister to deter me from going.” 

“Well, come back and take this rocker, and we can make 
amends for the loss of time from church, by discussing some 
of those religious books; now tell me something about them.” 

Gerald arose, expecting to go to the library, when the door- 
bell caused him to pause. 

“Who can that be?” 

“Not a visitor to-day; probably a tramp wants a bite.” 

“If I were a minister or a doctor, I should think—” 

But the sentence was left unfinished by the entrance of a 


62 


THE NOVICE. 


gentleman with light hair, blue eyes, and fair complexion. 
His cheerful face received a welcome everywhere. 

“Dr. Winston !”e7xlaimed Mrs. Bradford, rising, “What a 
pleasant sur^Tise !” 

“Ralph, how are you?” said Gerald looking around, “I said 
a tramp, and I am sure that you seem to have the travel- 
stains of many a mile; you must be damp and cold.” 

“Fatigued and chilled through; I could not resist the temp- 
tation to drop in and warm my nose. You know there is no 
pretty wife waiting for me in my bachelor quarters.” 

“You must have serious cases, to be out in this rain.” 

“I do not neglect my patients even if the weather is 
inclement; for I feel responsible for them until I have used 
every known remedy.” 

“Dr. Winston, you run your work into the Sabbath; v/hy 
not trust your patients to Providence and go to church?” 

“That kind of faith would be like placing your head on 
the railroad track before an advancing engine, and then pray 
for God’s protection.” 

“Our motives will condemn us before our actions,” said 
Gerald gravely. 

“What keeps you two from church?” asked Dr. Winston. 

“Would you advise me to venture out in such a rain?” 

“The minister gets there, and he is flesh and blood.” 

“Women are not weatherproof like men.” 

“The flimsy clothing of women is not rain-proof; stouter 
material should be worn during foul weather.” 

“I should be overcome by the weight of such a dress.” 

“Gerald and I have hunted all day in such weather.” 

“Mary kept me at home to expound some religious works.” 

“No such thing ! I’ll be no scapegoat to bear your sins.” 

“She has become so unusually pious while reading a novel 
that she has presumed to lecture me on irreverence.” 


THB NO VICE. 


63 


‘■‘Sufely, you are not reading a novel on Sunday!” said 
the Doctor. You have plenty of religious literature at hand.” 

“She advised me to read such devout books as ‘What’s 
Mine’s Mine,’ in which the hero piously drowns himself and 
the lady he loved, because she would not marry him.” 

“No such thing! If you knew the sequel, what induced 
you to tell me? I’ll just turn to the last part to see,” 

How eagerly some women devour a romance ! The more 
improbable it is, the more attractive it seems. Some lose 
sight of the sentiment, in their eagerness to gratify curiosity. 

“Why, Gerald! I don’t believe one word of that drowning; 
he was too noble to be guilty of such a crime.” 

“The author may have regarded love as a mad passion.” 

“The Macruadh of that book was not drowned; it was 
Macleod of Dare, a hero of Wm. Black,” said Dr. Winston, 

“1 knew it was one of those Mac’s who live in the wild 
fastnesses of Scotland.” 

“Mrs. Bradford, how is Percy? I’ve not seen him lately.” 

“He has perfect health and exuberant spirits.” 

“Ah ! What successful treatment have you found?” 

“No physic, but a new nurse.” 

“A good nurse means a steady old negro “mammy,” who 
does not trudge through all sorts of weather.” 

“No, indeed; she is a pious, educated white girl.” 

“Quite a paragon for a nurse.” 

“I was expecting Gerald to add that she is a Catholic,” 

“Catholic? Then the boy will certainly be a proselyte.” 

“He is too young to notice any difference in churches.” 

“The basis of all Christian churches is redemption through 
Christ,” said Gerald. 

“Various creeds point different routes,” said Dr. Winston., 

“Then,” added Mrs. Bradford, “there can be no objection 
to a variety of paths if they all lead to the same heaven. 


64 


THE NOVICE. 


The modss of worship are the different vehicles that carr/ 
the pilgrims.” She considered this a very practical illus- 
tration of a profound theory. 

“The tenets of all Christian denominations run parallel, 
almost in the same groove, when narrowed down by pro- 
tracted discussions among their theologians,” said Gerald. 

“Repeated concessions are lessening their differences,” 
remarked Dr. Winston. 

“The perversions of the ignorant are stumbling-blocks for 
those seeking the truth.” 

“During the Reformation, the wild theories and mad con- 
tentions of the ignorant caused those irrepressible mobs.” 

“Gerald, how did the ‘sale of indulgences’ arise?” 

“Self-inflicted tortures were useless to the penitent; then 
valuable gifts were substituted as an atonement for sins.” 

“Such donations,” said Dr. Winston, “have enabled the 
Catholics to build convents, monasteries, and churches.” 

“St. Peter’s, at Rome, was built in that manner.” 

“Would not the confiscation of an estate add more to our 
coffers than the life of a criminal?” asked Mrs. Bradford. 

“The death of a criminal adds nothing to our coffers, but 
it strikes horror to the living,” replied Gerald. 

“Gerald, I pity the woman you marry,” said she, frowning. 

He was not at all disturbed by any thought of marrying, 
nor by this pity thrust upon him; so he continued to discuss 
his line of thought. 

“All that a man has he will freely give for his life; if only 
an estate were required of a man for murder, then the list 
of crimes would be largely on the increase.” 

The mind of Dr. Winston reverted to division of creeds; 
and he said, “Few elements of flesh and blood exist in the 
bread and wine, yet some believe these are changed into the 
body of Christ before they are offered at the communion.” 


THE NOVICE. 


65 


“Whether Christ be a material or a spiritual essence in 
the eucharist, we are not required to decide;” said Gerald, 
“for his power would be unlimited in either form; and our 
reverence should be none the less, with either belief.” 

“Faith would be lacking to those who could perceive no 
difference between those emblems and other like material.” 

“The plan of salvation is plain enough: love to God and 
love to man preclude every sin.” 

“How is that?” said Mrs. Bradford. 

“If we love God, we will obey him; if we love others, we 
will do them no harm,” explained Gerald. 

‘ Then love is our doorkeeper, who will keep out the devil 
and his imps,” she replied. 

“Love for his nurse may draw Percy into Catholicism.” 

“Gerald, you harp on the same old string.” 

“That is better than your harping on a thousand strings.” 

“Dr. Winston,” said Mrs. Bradford, with a childish pout, 
“is it right for him to ridicule everything that I have to say?” 

“That is a compliment, Mrs. Bradford; the harp of a 
thousand strings is the heart, and you strike it very skillfully.” 

“Now you are satisfied;” said Gerald, “flattery always heals 
your wounded feelings.” 

“A nice compliment is more civil than useless snubbing.” 

“You are right, Mary; 1 submit to your correction. We 
should be as careful about crushing the feelings of others as 
if they were made of glass.” 

“Is there any satisfaction to the crusher, or any benefit 
to the crushed?” said Dr. Winston gravely. 

“None whatever;” said Gerald, “Mary knows that I am 
only teasing her.” 

“It is certainly cruel to make others feel uncomfortable.” 

“What about that Catholic nurse?” 

“She is kind and attentive.” 


66 


THE NOVICE. 


“There is one serious objection; if Percy ever doubts the 
faith of his forefathers, he may become an infidel.” 

“The idea! From what do you draw your conclusion?” 

“When doubts break down the stronghold of the faith 
that he found in those whom he honored and trusted, no 
other faith will ever take so deep a root in his mind. Doubts 
once generated have a tendency to increase in magnitude 
and power, — a Banquo’s ghost that will not down.” 

The dinner bell closed the long discussion, and Ralph 
Winston enjoyed the repast as mmch as the conversation. 

In the afternoon, though the rain continued. Dr. Ralph 
Winston remembered other patients who might need his 
careful attention, and he left this cheerful home, where he 
was welcomed as an iidimate friend and frequent visitor. 
Gerald had forgotten the religious works that he had sug- 
gested when his friend came in, and now he took possession 
of the proffered rocker in the sitting room. 

“Mary, there is one thing that you must guard against in 
the management of Percy.” 

“Now, Gerald, none of your sermons on a long list of 
virtues that I am expected to cultivate in the child; I never 
was cut out for a teacher.” 

“Jump at a conclusion, without the shadow of a premise.” 

“Premise, prem — ise — ” said she yawning, “I know — ” 

“I know that you are anxious to read your novel, and I 
have no long sermon.” 

“Well, cut it short if Percy be the subject.” 

“I fear that the nurse may be too severe with the boy on 
the Sabbath; it should be a day of pleasure to him.” 

“Well, I will attend to that to-morrow,” said she, opening 
her book. 

“To-morrow I shall be busy, and I wish to know for myself 
how he spends the Sabbath.” 


THE NOVICE. 


67 


“Gerald, you seem to be a contradiction of sentiments: 
sometimes you are so stern toward the child that I think 
you have no love for him; then again you are more anxious 
about his welfare than I have ever been.” 

“No matter about sentiment; duty is my rule of action, 
and I must ixiquire into his Sunday habits.” He touched 
the bell, then walked to the window. In a few moments 
Lucile appeared in the doorway with a questioning glance 
toward Mrs. Bradford whose attention was given to her book. 

“Come here, Percy, and see this little goat in harness,” 
said Gerald, waving Lucile back as he spoke. Then he 
added to her, “Mrs. Bradford will ring again for you when 
you are wanted.” 

“Percy, do you want a goat like the one harnessed to the 
wagon out there?” 

He shook his head solemnly. 

“Why not?” 

“Goats butt; I saw a boy butted over by one. A goat’s 
got sharp horns, too. I had rather have a pony.” 

“Would you ride now if you had one?” 

“Why, no. Uncle Gerald; don’t you know this is God’s day.” 

“Are you so naughty on other days?” 

“Some — times, but Lucile thinks I’m growing better and 
bigger too; she m.easured me to see how fast I was growing.” 

“What naughty ways have you had?” 

“I put the hot poker on kitty to make her jump; but I 
petted her so she’d forget it.” 

“That did not hurt her.” 

“But it hurted her feelings, for she growled like anything.” 

“She is only a cat; what if she was burnt?’' 

“But I must take care of her, ’cause God made her.” 

“What were you doing when the bell rang?” 

“Looking at Moses when they found him in the bulrushes.” 


68 


THE NOVICE. 


“Did he live in the water?” 

“No; his mother put him there. Why don’t you read 
about it in God’s book? I v/as so glad when the princess 
took him away; I think there were snakes in the long grass.” 

“You like snakes?” 

“Ugh! no, I don’t; I saw the baddest thing in the book.” 

“Was it the brass snake on Aaron’s rod?’^ 

“No; but I saw bad children though, and the — 

“Bad children in a good book?” 

“You ask too many questions,” said he, turning away. 

“What about the bad children?” 

“Old man was going up a hill; bad children said, ‘Get 
up, old baldhead.’ ” 

“Didn’t a policeman catch the boys and put them in jail?” 

“No, sir ! two old bears run out and tore ’em up?” 

“Well, wasn’t he baldheaded?” 

“Yes; but it was bad to talk so; he couldn’t help it." 

“I thought that God loved all little children.” 

“Love bad children, when he lets the bears tear ’em up?” 

“If bears eat up bad children, you had better look out.” 

“I think God lets ’em live if they try to be good.” 

“How do you know that God takes care of you?” 

“Because I ask him when I pray. He tells us to pray.” 

“Tell me your prayer.” 

He knelt very devoutly; and clasping his hands before 
him, he said, “Heavenly Father, I thank thee for every good 
thing we have. Forgive all our sins. Bless mamma. Uncle 
Gerald, and everybody, for Christ’s sake. Amen.” 

The levitous curiosity of the uncle was silenced; a degree 
of awe seemed to have fallen upon him. Could he object, 
or dare to interfere with a communion so sweet or so sacred? 
He turned to look at his silent sister; there was a shade of 
sadness on her features; why, he could not imagine. She 


THE NOVICE. 


69 


was going through the crucible of self-condemnation. She, 
his mother, had left all his prayers to be taught by servants. 
God had not suffered him to be neglected through her care- 
lessness. Lucile could train him better than she could; that 
silenced her conscience, and her cheerfulness returned. 

“Mary, no one but a genuine Christian, fully conscious of 
great responsibility, could have such influence over the boy.” 

“I am glad you are satisfied. I have been afraid you 
would run her off; and what would become of her? She 
seems to be homeless and friendless.” 

“My boy,” said Gerald, “do you know any speeches?” 

“I know a heap of ’em. ‘Billy had a little lamb,’ and — •” 

“Not Billy, it was Mary; boys have goats,” said Gerald, 
much amused at the gravity and earnestness of the boy. 

Percy blushed, and pulled and twisted the buttons of his 
coat; then he explained, “I don’t want no girl in my speech; 
Lucile said she’d let Billy be the boy what had the lamb.” 

“Mary, you see what tender regard the girl has for his 
boyish whims.” 

“He has won her affection, you see.” 

“Percy, never mind about Billy; give us your speech.” 

“Not to-day; it is not a Sunday speech.” 

“Preachers speak on Sunday; why can’t you?” 

“But they don’t speak about lambs going to school, and I 
can’t do it, either. I’d rather please God than any one else. 
I think you better look out when you make God mad.” 

“Boy, would you like to go with me to church?” 

“No; you don’t care about boys.” 

“How do you know?” said he quickly. 

“You told Lucile to keep me out of your office.” 

“Do you remember that? Well, my dear boy, I have 
changed my mind; you must come oftener now. But tell 
me why you will not go with me to church?” 


70 


THE NOVICE. 


“You don’t care anything about Sunday, and er — er — ” 
Gerald smiled as he glanced at his sister-in-law; he had an 
idea why he hesitated. 

“Am I such a bad fellow? You are an emxbryo priest.” 

“What is a priest?” 

“Never mind about priests; go finish reading your book.” 

“So far the nurse is an enigma; can’t you win her confi- 
dence? Some of your feminine arts may draw her out.” 

“Indeed, I have no desire to pursue that study any further 
than is necessary to direct her business,” said Mrs. Bradfcrd, 
with a curl of the lip and a toss of the head. 

# * * * 

Mrs. Bradford was too fond of society to waste much tim.e 
or thought on Lucile or the child. 

There were many girls with varied accomplishments and 
unusual attractions, who v^ere dying to catch her brother-in- 
law; yet he seemed to be utterly indifferent to all of their 
wiles, witticisms, and v/ealth. 

She had a faint hope, though but little expectation, that 
his choice might be that of his dead brother. It is true she 
was not so fresh as a young girl, “nor so verdant.” she whis- 
pered to herself. Her exuberant cheerfulness impressed 
upon her features a sweet, girlish expression that was irre- 
sistible. She was an artist in the selection and arrange- 
ment of her wardrobe. As a leader in society, she was a 
decided success. 

If Gerald should snub her, she had enough eligible suitors 
left. She had no idea of retiring from life on so slight a 
pretext as the loss of a lover; that style of action was too 
old-fashioned for her. If she had any controlling influence 
over fate, even Gerald himself might be crossed out on her 
tablet of preferences. 


THE NOVICE. 


71 


Circumstancss often make or mar one’s destiny when 
they ruthlessly play the game of life without consulting God’s 
plan, or asking his guidance at the solemn turning point. 

Gerald Bradford was not indifferent to society; for in it 
he found not only amusement, but many phases of character 
that he liked to study. When he was quite young, he was 
dazzled by a vain, frivolous girl, who professed the tenderest 
attachment for him. Such was his confidence in her love 
that he had no fear on account of the long separation by 
college life. The acknowledged tie was to him as binding 
as an oath; to her, an idly-spoken phrase, which she scarcely 
remembered a few hours after. Her letters to him w^ere 
trifling lines, devoid of thought or feeling. “She is a miere 
girl;” said he to himself, “her mind and heart are not fully 
developed; she will improve as she grows older.” 

Unfortunately for his peace of mind, but very fortunately 
for his after life, she developed a preference for an actor, 
and eloped from home. Not the shadow of an excuse did 
she offer for her conduct. This incident embittered him 
against all actors as an unprincipled set. He suspected 
that a lack of integrity and stability drove both sexes to the 
stage; especially, when these traits were coupled with vanity 
and self-esteem. 

He had less confidence in society women than he might 
have felt if he had loved a better woman. His ideal woman 
was still a myth, for which he had long ceased to look. He 
enjoyed the society of his brother’s widow, who was still 
handsome, but he disliked her frivolity. She found no pleas- 
ure in adorning her home, or in planning for the comfort 
and convenience of its inmates. She pleaded her incapacity 
for training her son, and left that arduous task to the nurse. 
Gerald thought such a woman unworthy of his love. There 
had been one perfect w'oman — his mother. Was there no 


72 


THE NOVICE. 


living woman like her? He thought not, and he rejected the 
subject as settled for all time; but he had no intention of 
becoming an anchorite because he found women less angelic 
than he thought in his earlier years. 

He would marry at some future time, and endure the 
capricious fancies of some pretty girl. If he grew tired of 
her petulance, her whims, or her flirtations, he could travel; 
after long wandering, his return might be a novelty that she 
would appreciate. Yes, he would endure a wife as a 
necessity in a home; and he certainly would not be disap- 
pointed in any expectation. But not now; he had no time 
to be bothered with any additional cares. He could not 
stand any new and heavy expenses. 

So much absorbed was he in the work of his profession 
that his whole mind and energy were directed to the success 
of all law business intrusted to him. His sympathetic nature 
often rebelled, but his reason held sway by reminding him 
that a lawyer is not responsible for an unjust law any more 
than a hangman is for the death of a criminal. He was 
proud of his success when he could sway a jury by his 
eloquence, and then leave them under the impression that 
they were influenced by their judgment alone. 

His wit and sarcasm were so besprinkled with adroit 
flattery that his words, like electric sparks, gave a thrill that 
lingered longer than their pain. His opinions were based 
upon undoubted truth; and when he spoke, he had ready a 
definite idea, clothed in suitable language. His statements 
and illustrations were so forcible as to leave upon his hearers 
no memory of the language that painted them. 


CHAPTER VIL 
The Pauper Home. 

^NE bright morning Mrs. Bradford entered the library, 
with a swest smile on her face, as she said in her most 
charming tones, “Busy! always busy; are you not, Gerald? 
How I wish that my idle fingers could follow your dictation 
and give you some moments of rest!” 

“Yes, busy,” he said in a curt tone, as he finished tying 
a bundle and tossed it across the table. 

“Surely, you will wear out over these old papers; then 
what will become of me?” 

“You will marry and settle down.” 

“Settle? Am I not an old settled woman, say?” 

“By no means; you are a charming widow, whom the girls 
delight to imitate.” 

“Indeed? Is that really so?” She laughed a merry, 
childish laugh, and danced away to the window. 

“The day is lovely, Gerald.” 

“What is your request, Mary?” He understood her ways. 

“Request? Did I make any request?” 

“Not in words, but there was a question in your eye.” 

“Now, that comes of your penetration; I shall be careful 
hereafter, lest you read my thoughts.” She affected some 
embarrassment, while she tapped the window with her fan. 

“What is that request?” said he, without looking up. 

“Since you insist on some request, 1 will make the most 
difficult one that I can think of; and I shall be as urgent in 
having it granted as you have been in having it made: will 
you take me out for a short jaunt?” 

“Anywhere this side of the moon.” 


74 


THE NOVICE. 


“Well, we will not not venture beyond the visible side.” 

“I am not anxious to seek highflyers just now, but 1 am 
ready to listen to any request, not in the matrimonial line.” 

“I am sure the matrimonial state lies in another direction.” 

“Then you advise me not to venture into that state?” 

“Advice would be useless; you wouldn’t take that from 
anyone. Umph! if you did. Miss Prim might suit you; she 
would have no opinions of her own to clash with yours.” 

“She is as silent as a wooden doll; you forget that resist- 
ance is a needed stimulus to a dominant power such as you 
accuse me of exercising.” 

“The love for contradiction must be the cause of your 
provoking remarks.” 

“Was any one ever provoked into matrimony?” 

“I want you to understand,” said she angrily, “that my 
request has nothing to do with your marriage: marry the 
Princess of Tahiti if you wish.” 

“I am not so ambitious; tell ms that request now.” 

“Nothing much, after all; 1 want to go to the Pauper 
Home. It will be an act of charity that I have neglected.” 

“Well, get ready while I finish this work.” 

“I cannot venture among that class without an escort to 
check any possible rudeness.” 

“That is right.” 

Mrs. Bradford said she would be down in a few minutes, 
but the time lengthened out to three-quarters of an hour 
before she appeared in the doorway, dressed superbly. 

“To the poorhouse?” he asked, glancing at her dress. 

“Yes, to the Pauper Home.” 

“Well, then.” And they passed out. 

“Gerald, I believe you don’t know the way; I heard it was 
in the opposite direction.” 

“I have some business this way; we have plenty of time.’' 


THE NOVICE. 


75 


He checked his horse before a hardware store, where he 
left a few orders; then he stopped at the butcher’s; and then 
he waited at a dry-goods store for some packages. 

“You certainly had much business to attend to; that ever- 
lasting law takes you among every grade of people. I often 
wonder how you manage to preserve 3^our individuality; con- 
tact with coarse people has not demoralized you in the least. 
What a wonderful man you are !” she added with an adoring 
smile, which was intended to thrill him. 

“Your imagination magnifies very commonplace things.” 

“Hon. Gerald Bradford is no ordinary man.” 

“Mary, you like titles so well, I dare say you will try to 
to capture some nobleman when we go to Europe.” 

“Not I, indeed !. Gerald, there is nothing on earth so dear 
to me as my home and its inmates.” 

“Then, you give up the trip?” 

“To Europe? Oh, no ! While I prefer my home to a 
castle in Europe, still I desire to travel.” 

“I hope your travels will not end like the trip to-day — 
at the poorhouse,” he said, as he checked his horse. 

“Is this wretched hovel the home for the county poor?” 

“This is their den.” 

“Really? Is it necessary for me to enter that horrid 
place, and stand among those filthy beggars?” 

“No,” said he, taking out a well-filled basket. 

“Don’t Gerald; tell them to send a servant.” 

“Ma! ma!” screamed a squalid urchin, “look yonder at 
Mr. Bradford; he’s taking out a big basket.” 

Another child clapped his hands, yelling, “Goody! ain’t 
us glad, though?” 

Gerald did not explain to Mrs. Bradford that there were 
no servants at such a place, nor anything to serve. He car- 
ried the basket to the door. 


76 


THE NOVICE. 


“Well, Mister, I hope you got somethin’ fitten to eat," 
whined a helpless crone. 

“Them charity folks forgit the golden rule; they send us 
things they wouldn’ feed to the dogs," piped a young woman. 

“Better stop grumbling; beggars musn’t be choosers." 

This was the advice of an old man, coming up with a hoe 
on his shoulder. His clothes were dilapidated, but his face 
bore the stamp of patient endurance; he was the moderator 
in all their disputes, and the comforter in all cases of distress. 

After Gerald Bradford went back to the phaeton for some 
bundles, the younger women began to unpack the basket 
and comment over its contents. 

“What are these rags for, anyhow?" 

“They must be trash swept from the theater; here’s scraps 
of dirty lace, soiled ribbons, and ragged handkerchiefs." 

“Do look here! a flimsy dress, toe low in the neck for 
decency; do you spose that woman out there wore it?" 

“Gracious knows. There ain’t a thing here fit to wear." 

“He’d better take this finery down to the nigger quarter; 
we need coarse clothes to work in,” said an old woman. 

“Mother Todd, be respectful to your betters; he’s coming 
back from the gate," said the old man. 

“Batters? Do clothes make him better’n me?" 

“Them slippers ain’t wide enough for anybody here." 

The children snatched the rolls of dirty ribbon, and ran 
behind the house to use them for streamers tied to sticks. 
The rest of the articles had fallen on the floor, where they 
were trampled by the feet of angry women; a little girl gath- 
ered up enough to make a dress for a doll. 

Mrs. Bradford did not hear the comments; for she was 
reading a newspaper that had dropped from Gerald’s pocket. 

Gerald was much surprised at the selection of articles 
crowded into Mary’s basket; but he remembered that Jane, 


THE NOVICE. 


77 


the housemaid, had collected and placed them in the basket 
while Mrs. Bradford was dressing for this trip. He knew 
very well that Jane would lay aside any clothing that she 
could use herself or sell to other negroes. 

He knew from the countenance of those women that they 
were not only disappointed, but aggrieved by the supposed 
insult to their poverty. Thanks to the prudent old man, 
Gerald heard none of their ill-natured criticisms. 

“For Mrs. Moore,” said Gerald, handing her a heavy shawl. 

“God bless you ! It is just what I need.” 

“This woolen dress is for you, Mrs. Brown.” 

“Thanky, sir; best thing for cool mornin’s.” 

“Mr. Brov/n,” said Gerald, “this package is your garden 
seed. Your rake is useless; I’ll send a new one to-morrow.” 

“Many thanks for your kindness; if everyone gave just 
what we needed, we could get along,” 

This started the tongues of the grumbling women, who 
were glad of a chance to express their minds. 

“We’d starve, if it wern’t for Mr. Bradford.” 

“All of us say that.” 

Gerald hurried away at the first sound of their whining to 
keep from losing his patience. If they complained of others, 
he was sure they would speak in the same way of him. 
Grumbling is a bad habit, which often is without any excuse. 

“0 Jim ! come here. Where is Jim?” Gerald asked of a 
crowd of urchins peeping around the corner of the house. 
Jim, who had been foremost, was now crowding back among 
the rest, with shamefaced blushes. 

“You go; I’m too ragged,” said Jim to Joe. 

“No, you better go; you know what to say better’n me.” 

With grimaces and backward glances, Jim then moved 
awkwardly forward, grabbed the bundle, and ran back, with- 
out a word of thanks. 


78 


THE NOVICE. 


“Bad manners;” said the old man, “Jimmie, go and hank 
the gentleman.” 

The boy peeped around the corner and ducked his head, 
which act he intended as an expression of his thanks. 

There was scuffling and snatching at the paper bag. 

“Candies, cakes, and things, by George !” exclaimed a boy. 
This announcement drew the hungry women nearer; even an 
old crone hobbled up in time to grab some of the fallen sweet- 
meats scattered upon the ground. 

“Save gran’pa a bite,” said the old man, ashamed to join 
in the scuffle, though his mouth watered for the dainties. 

The rattling of handcarts upon the road outside drew the 
attention of the children, who, now regardless of their rags, 
flew to the gate and settled upon the fence. Mrs. Bradford 
looked up from the newspaper at the sound of the carts and 
the noisy children. 

“I’ll be dogged if that head cyart ain’t coming inside.” 

“Shore ’nough, she is,” 

“T’other ones too, I bet you.” 

“Golly! ain’t they full, though?’' 

“That’s what they are.” 

“You can jess pass on with your cyarts; there ain’t ’nuff 
money here to buy the sacks, let alone what’s in ’em,” said 
one boy more pert than the rest. 

“Hush, Bob!” 

The carts were full of the necessaries of life,— a ham or 
two, a sack of meal, loaves of bread, and other things. 

“Now stop grumbling,” said the old man to the women. 

Only one of the group thought of returning thanks to him. 
The old man followed Gerald to explain the reason. 

“They wern’t learned no manners in their raisin’. Don’t 
think hard of ’em; they have good feelings, but they don’t 
count on lettin’ you know it. 


THE NOVICE, 


79 


“Perhaps they depended on you to express their thanks.’' 

“Maybe so; we’ll remember you in our prayers.” 

“Your prayers are better than any thanks; I need them.” 

“God will reward you for all this, I know.” 

One good man in a household has wonderful influence 
over the rest. The words of such a man drop like good seed, 
which spring up later. 

“Surely, Gerald, you have no law business with these 
paupers? They would never pay you.” 

“True; but Solomon said, ‘He that hath pity on the poor 
lendeth to the Lord.’ These are the Lord’s poor.” 

“Then your expectation is from Him?” 

“As these people own nothing and keep out of crime, 
they need no lawyer.” 

“No lawyer? Then, what kept you here so long?” 

“I wanted to give some advice while you read the paper.” 

“Advice is not gratis with lawyers and doctors; do you 
expect a reward for that, too?” 

“No; not even the thanks of these poor.” 

“Well, no wonder some lazy people presume to live on 
the labor of others; everywhere they will find some to help 
support them.” 

“If I had known how well the county provides for these 
people, I would not have come.” 

“If you regret a benevolent act, there is no merit in it.” 

“No regrets, of course; but those carts, how they were 
filled, — food, cloth, shoes even. If they come every week, 
these people cannot suffer.” 

“Unfortunately, they do not come every week.” This 
Gerald said without telling her that he alone ordered the 
contents of the carts. 

“The women ought to keep the children clean, and comb 
their heads.” 


80 


THE NOVICE. 


“Yes, and combs too,” said Gerald, unconscious that he 
uttered his thought aloud; but he remembered just then 
that he had forgotten to order combs and brushes. 

“I hope Jane thought to put in combs; there were somie 
very good ones sent to the plunder room.” 

“Negroes hate ‘poor white trash;’ I dare say Jane put in 
nothing that she could use or sell.” 

“Why, Gerald, Jane is perfectly honest.” 

“If so, she ought to be placed in some museum as the first 
of the race ever known to be so.” 

“Why don’t those women wash the children’s clothes?” 

“They might if they had tubs and soap and a change of 
clothing for them.” 

“You take their part and abuse poor Jane,” said she, with 
a frown. 

“I might have known that you are too amiiable to see faults 
even in your servants.” 

This flattery chased away the frown; she smiled and tapped 
him with the paper as she said, “You naughty boy !” 

“Your Serene Highness must pardon the faults of a boy.” 

“She laughed, and began to chatter of other things until 
they reached home. As they entered the gate, there was a 
crash like broken glass, followed by a cry from Percy. They 
rushed in, following the sounds to the sitting room, where a 
beautiful vase lay in fragments on the floor. Percy’s whin- 
ing now changed to sulks. 

“My! Who broke my vase?” exclaimed his mother. 

Percy gave an angry glance at his mother, as if intending 
to resent any injury to himself; then he looked at Lucile for 
sympathy: but, seeing only stern reproof in her face, his re- 
vengeful feelings were directed to her, and he said, “ Lucile — ” 
He hesitated, then burst into tears. 

“How in the world, Lucile?” 


THE NOVICE. 


81 


She did not reply; her expression changed to one of sur- 
prise and disappointment instead of anger. 

“What was it that struck the vase?” asked Gerald. 

He saw guilt in the face of the boy, and he was anxious 
to know whether fear of Lucile caused him to tell an untruth. 

Lucile understood the cause of his anxiety, and she asked, 
“What struck the vase, Percy?” 

“ Twas my bow,” said he, cheered up at the thought of 
shifting the guilt from him and Lucile to the bow and arrow. 

“Who shot the arrow?” said Gerald, with a smile of relief. 

“My bow did,” said Percy straightening up, and clasping 
his hands behind him, as if that statement settled the matter. 

“Who pulled the bowstring?” 

Percy frowned as he turned his head in disgust, saying, 
“Uncle Gerald always asks too many questions.” 

“That is a fine bow, Percy;” said Gerald, picking it up 
and examining the string, “where did you point the arrow?” 

“At a fly on the window.” 

“It is well you struck the vase instead of the plate glass.” 

“I know it,” said Percy, shrugging his shoulders. He 
looked around at Lucile, then he went up to her and said, 
“Lucile, don’t be angry with me; next time I’ll shoot where 
you tell me.” 

“This trouble will help you to remember that it is always 
best for you to do as you are requested.” 

Now was the time for an explanation from Lucile. She 
had requested Percy to put away the bow and arrow, when 
they came in from the flower yard. She was busy arranging 
flowers in a vase on the table, when Percy entered behind 
her. The fly buzzing on the windowpane was too great a 
temptation for the boy to resist. His arrow struck the wall 
near the window and rebounded, carrying the frail vase to 
the floor with it. 


82 


THE NOVICE. 


“Lucile,” said Percy, when they reached the hall, "will 
God be angry with me for breaking that pretty vase?” 

“I think he v/ill forgive you, now that you are sorry and 
will not do so again.” 

“But I nearly told a story.” 

“That you must never, never do! God loves the truth; 
he has no love for a liar.” 

“Now since I am sorry, you love me again?” 

“Yes darling, always; I am sorry when you do wrong.” 

“I’ll grow better as 1 grow bigger.” 

“Is this acting?” thought Gerald as he heard this conver- 
sation while they passed slowly down the hall. “A Roman 
matron was never represented more correctly upon the stage; 
but acting is a woman’s forte, whether on or off the stage.’' 

“Mamma!” called Percy, looking back, “when I’m a 
man. I’ll buy a new vase for you.” 

"Thank you, my son. I will wait patiently for your gift.’' 

“Mary, if Lucile teaches him to tell the truth, I would 
risk her Catholicism.” 

“I don’t care a fig for her creed; no one can tell what a 
boy will be when he is grown,” 

“A boy without moral training will be, when a man, the 
same boy, of larger status, larger vices, more unruly temper, 
and bolder deeds of wickedness. 

“Well, let Lucile do the training; I tell you I have no 
aptitude for such work.” 

“Teach him to correct evil tendencies, and he will have 
strength to resist temptation when he is grown. Teach him 
obedience, and then he will need no laws to force him into 
compliance with God's will.” 

“Gerald, you are his guardian; and, as you seem to know 
how to raise him better than I do, I leave the whole busi- 
ness with you.” 


CHAPTER VIII. 
Mariage de Convenance. 


^ ERALD, what do you think? We have invitations to the 
M wedding of Sallie Bronson. I thought she would have a 
quiet marriage, and leave immediately on a bridal tour.” 

“Sacrificed; but neither at, nor on, God’s altar.” 

‘'Nor will there be any sacrifice. Why do you say so? 
It is considered the best match of the season. He is the 
owner of several plantations; and, besides, he has ever so 
many claims in some mines of the West.” 

“That report may or may not be true; but one thing is 
certain: he is the owner of many gray hairs, and he has had 
many years of experience in hoarding up money.” 

“You can say such ill-natured things. No matter what 
he has done; will you go or not? It will be on the 10th.” 

“Well, let me see. Court convenes later, and I shall be 
very busy; but I must see poor Sallie glide from happy girl- 
hood into wedded bondage.” 

“She might never have so good a chance; her uncle is 
very old, and his property is all settled upon his own children. 
At his death she would be left penniless.” 

“Then it is to be a ‘mariage de convenance,’ as the French 
would say. I should call it a misalliance.” 

“You are so different from other people, in your notions.” 

“I am very glad of it; if we all had the same notions, or 
rather the same taste, we would fall in love with the same 
Woman.” 

“My ! What a number of women there would be who had 
no lovers.” He raised both hands to emphasize his wonder. 

“Just as many sour men would be left Without sweethearts.” 


84 


THE NOVICE. 


“Some would marry for beauty, some for money, and a 
few, my sister, for — love.” 

“And, pray, to which class do you belong?” 

“I? lam not in the market.” 

“It is every man’s business to take care of some woman, 
and it is high time you were looking out for somebody.” 

“All of the dazzling beauties have a supply of moths flut- 
tering about them; are there no debutantes to appear soon?” 

“If there are, they will find plenty of admirers; a new girl is 
a welcome novelty, whether she has accomplishments or not. ” 

“The present state of affairs is, indeed, very discouraging; 
is Miss Bland mortgaged?” 

*T dare say she is; she has plenty of money.” 

“Then she ought to have married this prospective bride- 
groom; they could not squabble over “What’s mine’s mine.” 

“You are unjust to dear Sallie; no girl with her loving dis- 
position would marry for money. Women are not avari- 
cious, they cannot live without love; it is to them impulse, 
strength, ay, even life itself.” 

“You grow eloquent. I wish I could believe it; where do 
girls of that sort live? Only in novels and in fairyland.” 

“In this real world of ours. Sir Skeptic. No power of' 
imagination could portray nobler, truer, more devoted women 
than may be found in this, our Southern land.” 

“I grant that no other nation can show finer specimens of 
queenly beauty and bewitching grace, and — such enchanting 
coquettes.” 

“It is their only weapon of retaliation against the flattery 
of the other sex.” 

“Men flatter because they know that women expect it 
and really enjoy it, Sharp retorts can soon check it,” 

“The love of some women is changeless and immortal, 
but men love women as they love flowers: they caress them 


THE NOVICE. 


85 


while they are young and fair, they are proud of their 
beauty and their cheerfulness; but when their beauty fades, 
they are consigned to oblivion.” 

“The oblivion of home, the nursery, and the flower yard.” 

“In this discussion, I forgot the main object of my coming 
to you; I want to consult you about the wedding presents.” 

“Oh, some handsome trifle; an expensive present would 
insure some obligation, and there is no worse form of indebt- 
edness. It is a forced debt that is never fully paid.” 

“I suppose you would suggest a set of Tiddledy winks.” 

“The very thing ! ridiculously funny and quite amusing. 
As they will be off soon on their long journey, they can’t 
carry silver plate, and there will be an innumerable number 
of manicure sets, dressing cases, and toilet sets, — quite 
enough to supply all their poor kin with Christmas presents.” 

“Are you really in earnest?” 

“Yes; the game will amuse them while on their trip, and 
it will take but little room in their handbags.” 

“And you decide to send that game?” 

“Are you sure that I belong to that class of friends that 
are expected to send presents.” 

“You must decide that question; but, I am really an 
intimate friend, what must I do?” 

“Jewelry is a vulgar gift unless given by a near relative.” ■ 

“Could I not order a set of Tiddledywinks, with the dif- 
ferent colors in silver, gold, and enamel?” 

“1 suppose so; wedding presents cause more worry than 
pleasure or profit, to both the donors and the receivers.” 

“You think it a bad custom?” 

“It empties the purses of the poor to keep up with others, 
and really benefits no one.” 

The 10th came; Lucile’s deft fingers had draped filmy 
laces over folds of gleaming satin, and confined them by 


86 


THE NOVICE. 


jeweled sprays. When Mrs. Bradford stood before the glass 
and saw the queenly figure there, she appreciated the artistic 
effect, but she had no thanks for the amateur modiste. 

Gerald, in faultless dress suit, paced the hall impatiently 
while waiting for Mrs. Bradford. His eagerness would seem 
to indicate an extravagant fondness for society. Did he 
regret the losing of a moment of the delightful time that he 
expected to spend with the same women that he had criti- 
cised so severely a few days before? Could not their be- 
witching smiles chase away his impatient frowns, and reflect 
themselves on his handsome features? Men who affect to 
be cynical are not always invulnerable. 

He had decided to attend this wedding; and his decisions 
were never revoked, and but seldom retarded as in this in- 
stance. Such characters succeed in life; their energy, which 
is but will-power, forces success out of improbabilities. He 
could not brook hindrances or delay, even in trivial affairs. 

On their arrival, as Gerald entered the cloakroom, he was 
warmly greeted by his special friend. Dr, Ralph Winston, 
whose blue eyes and chestnut hair were in exact contrast to 
the black hair and brown eyes of Gerald, They seemed to 
be counterparts of each other; so perfectly did their tastes 
and dispositions harmonize that no circumstance could ever 
destroy the confidence of either. Will they be so fortunate 
in selecting their wives as to find opposite temperaments? 

“Well, old fellow ! How are our proteges in the suburbs? 

I have not looked in for some time.” 

“A few days ago I ordered the first installment in the 
necessaries of life,” said Gerald. 

“Ah! that was the best move; I suppose they were like 
hungry wolves when they saw the food.” 

“Yes, they were indeed; but, Ralph, in that business I find 
that we need a competent female adjunct.” 


THE NOVICE, 


87 


"Adjunct, indeed;” said Ralph laughing, "is that your spe- 
cial business here to-night? I should say that you are a 
very practical man. After all, you should marry just to 
carry out a heroic scheme.” 

"No, no; I expected you to do the marrying, but you must 
select a woman that has plenty of good common sense.” 

"Strong-minded? Excuse me ! Such a one would suit 
a callous man like you better,” 

"I could not afford to marry; the widow and the boy will 
need all the care that I have to bestow.” 

"Tut, tut ! Sacrifice the pleasures and interests of home- 
life for them. Encourage her to marry, and fill her place 
with a sweet, loving wife.” 

"When I decide to be immolated as a benedict, I will 
travel to some unexplored region to look for an ideal less 
etherial than the butterflies that flit about here.” 

"I would rather risk the selection among those with whom 
I was better acquainted.” 

"She must be as guileless as an angel — ” 

"You may find that sort up among the Alps, where they 
associate with innocent lambs and crystal glaciers.” 

"No, none of your ah-oo-hoos; I would as soon marry a 
Comanche as one of those bleating shepherdesses,” 

"It is eight o’clock; they marry at eight thirty. Come, 
old fellow, there may be some debutante fresh enough to be 
artless, if that style be your choice.” 

"You, doubtless, expect to find one as true as steel.” 

"And you may find one as sharp.” 

"Miss Mallie? Her sarcasm would cut the tender cords 
of love.” 

"You may be captured by her yet.” 

"I am protected by an impervious shield of cynicism.” 

"Come, let’s go; the ladies may be waiting for us.” 


88 


THE NOVICE. 


After the customary greetings from the hostess, Gerald 
found himself across the room near a diminutive brunette 
arrayed in rose-colored silk and an abundance of creamy 
laces; she seemed delighted to m.eet him. 

“Mr. Bradford, it has been an age since we saw you last.” 

“Oh!” said Gerald deprecatingly, while raising his hand 
as if to ward off a blow. “Don’t say an age, for then you 
and I will be aged; that would be a serious calamity for me, 
as I could not learn from your sex the art of rejuvenation.” 

“The lack of this art may account for your retirement from 
society, and now you are pouring over those musty legends 
of law; they are legends, are they not, Mr. Bradford?” said 
she, smiling up to him pleasantly. 

“Would you punctuate that sentence with an interrogation 
point at the close, or a dagger at the beginning?” 

“The dagger, of course, as we are at daggers’ points.” 

“Why do you call my law books legends?” 

“Because they are; do you think those records are true?” 

“And do you really believe that we would cite fables as 
authority, when defending a case?” 

“I don’t know; I asked for information.” 

“Tell me, what exciting topic has been discussed in society 
since my retirement?” 

“The intellectual game of Tiddledywinks, which you 
would have enjoyed very much.” 

“You should have telephoned me; I claim to be an adept.” 

“Your presence was desired to give zest to the gossip.’' 

“You do me too much honor; gossip, you know, is a part 
of female education, and I should have thought that those 
present were adepts in the science.” 

“I beg your pardon for the correction; but we learn the 
initial steps of gossip in society, where the men always take 
an active part.” 


Tf!B NOVlCB. 


B9 

^‘What did you study in school? Elements of Criticism?" 

‘'Yes; but the chapter on Sarcasm has been left out since 
you were graduated.” 

“According to the statement just now about ages, your 
schooldays must have been during the same period,” 

“Miss Raymond,” said Dr. Winston, coming up to them^ 
“I think your college books contained no more proposiiions 
than you have had to deal with since you left school.” 

“Yes, indeed;” said Gerald, “I, for one, can testify that 1 
have submitted many propositions to her, and she has failed 
to give the right solution to any of them.” 

“Then, you have proved me to be a failure.” 

“Failure? I was the one that failed,” replied Gerald. 

“Your propositions were not in the form of curves, circles^ 
and angles; now try some adjunct,'" said the Doctor, smiling. 

The word “adjunct,” in itself, had no power to excite their 
risibles; but the word recalled their private conversation in 
the dressing room, and both laughed mysteriously. 

They had no intention of arousing the curiosity of any one’; 
but their smiles were observed by Miss Raymond, who inter- 
preted them as some allusion to the marriage at hand. 

“As a friend of this family, I object to any criticisms.” 

Both men were greatly surprised; they were shocked at 
the mere suggestion, as they had not even intended to appear 
mysterious in the presence of others, 

“Excuse me when I say that you are mistaken;” said 
Gerald, “we could not be so rude as to hint a criticism dis- 
paraging to those who receive us as guests.” 

“But still the term needs an explanation.” 

“Certainly; I think the Doctor is afraid of being immov- 
ably cornered in some angle of the room by a loquacious 
matron, while his lady fair is circling around to become an 
adjunct to some other coterie of friends.” 


90 


THE NOVICE. 


This unexpected reply struck Dr. Winston like an electric 
spark from a battery, and his risibles expanded to their utmost 
capacity. It was quite impossible for his open countenance 
to conceal the covert meaning. 

Miss Raymond was not deceived by this strange explana- 
tion; she was determined to make the best of her suspicions. 

“I think there is some other aijmcl floating through the 
visions of Mr. Bradford.” 

“Perhaps your clairvovant fancy will embody this spiritual 
adjunct, and give me a description of her; she may prove to 
be my destiny.” 

“Your intended must be some very practical woman; per- 
haps one of the woman’s rights persuasion would come up to 
your expectations.” 

“Please excuse me; I am to be the manager, and not the 
managed, in all of my affairs.” 

“I thought your decision would turn on the amount of help 
afforded as well as the quality; you are so practical, you know.” 

“Is it not best to be practical in all business affairs?” 

^‘Business affairs!'' she exclaimed with mock horror. 

“Of course; you would find considerable business in it if 
you had to meet all of those bills, — from the butcher and the 
baker and the mantuamaker, the miller and the milliner, 
the knickknacks and bric-a-bracs.” 

“Your woman’s rights woman would meet her own bills.” 

“Her funds would be spent on some charitable institution 
named for herself; and her husband would be buttonholed at 
every corner to look at unknown bills, forced upon him, — 
one half-dozen bonnets a season make twenty-four per year.” 

“How liberal you are in your calculations? I wonder if 
the mantuamaker will fare as well?” said she. 

“The modern benedict is controlled by necessity rather 
than liberality.” 


THE NOVICE. 


91 


“Mr. Bradford is very romantic in his love affairs, and 
most generous toward those he loves,” said Dr. Winston. 

“Necessity is a kind of forced generosity, you know; as 
to the romantic, I fully expected her to picture for me some 
lovely fay, and she suggested as a suitable companion for 
me a woman-suffragist.” 

“Fay, indeed; they exist only in the dreams of poets. 
Where does that business part come in, unless you trade for 
a Circassian?” 

“That is a fine suggestion; the beautiful creature could 
not learn enough English to fire off squibs of sarcasm.” 

“And I am sure that her ignorance would render her 
impervious to your own cutting speeches.” 

“That’s it, Gerald; beautiful but harmless.” 

“Mr. Bradford, it is hinted’ that you pore over old law 
books until your complexion has been imbrowned with the 
hue of their rusty pages.” 

“I am preparing to masquerade as a Spaniard.” 

“Are you about to attend a fancy ball, or do you contem- 
plate going on the stage?” 

“I have no time for either. I have a lawsuit for a railroad 
company, which may take me into Mexico.” 

“Why do you wish to be like a Spaniard?” 

“They have no love for Americanos, and I might receive 
their stilettoes instead of their lawsuits.” 

“Will the animosity engendered by Santa Anna’s cruelty 
never be forgotten?” 

“National feuds are like hereditary creeds — they never 
die out,” 

“I should not like to deal with such people,” 

“Sly people are dangerous in any country.” 

; “jTou must take Dr. Winston along as a gendarme, to stand 
guard ‘while you parley over the law points.” 


92 


THE NOVICE. 


“Me?'’ said Dr. Winston, “indeed, no! My patients would 
consume all the bread pills in my office, and they would 
absorb all the microbes of every disease into their systems, 
before I could return or telegraph for Koch’s lymph.” 

“Do you give bread pills for heart troubles?” 

“Yes, and for all other imaginary diseases.” 

“Miss Willett,” said Gerald to Inez, who had been a silent 
listener, “I saw your advertisement in the Sunny South, and 
I hope success will crown the venture.’' 

“Advertisement ? I do not understand,” said Inez, blushing 
and glancing at Dr. Winston for some explanation. 

“The advertisement was, ‘Small lady, dark hair and eyes, 
wants a correspondent; object, matri — ” 

“Do stop him. Dr. Winston.” 

“Now, as I am very practicalS and he looked at Miss 
Raymond, “and I have no time to bother with love speeches, 
I will answer that advertisement and risk the chances.” 

“How does she sign herself?” asked Miss Raymond. 

“She signs herself ‘Jacqueminot,’ and she will wear roses 
of that kind to the opera on the 25th. She requests the one 
answering the advertisement to wear a Jacqueminot also.” 

“Pshaw! Inez, that’s one of Mr. Bradford’s teasing jokes. 
I believe he wrote the advertisement himself just to see how 
many gentlemen would accept the banter.” 

“And to see how many silly girls would try to personate 
‘Jacqueminot’ by wearing those flowers,” said Inez. 

“Perhaps, I was mistaken in my conjecture; it must have 
been Miss Raymond; she answers the description exactly.” 

“Ah, indeed!” said she with a toss of her head, “and I 
shall expect you to have every buttonhole decorated with 
red roses on the 25th.” 

“Ah ! Miss Raymond, you are tantalizing; that toss of the 
head is equivalent to a rejection in reserve for me.” 


THE NOVICE. 


93 


“Mr. Bradford,” said Inez, “I will provide a knot of crepe, 
and you can leave the Jacqueminots for her unsuspecting 
devotees.” 

“No, thank you. Miss Inez, I will not yield my independ- 
ence by mourning for the inevitable; besides, roses have 
thorns, you know.” 

“A Lily is thornless.” 

“Spare my blushes;” said Mr. Bradford, covering his face 
with his hands, “I must escape from these tortures.” He 
strode across the room. 

Many looked after Gerald as he advanced toward the 
charming Lily Denton, and none who looked were so obtuse 
as not to perceive the mutual joy of that meeting. 

A few moments later a lady in another part of the room 
approached Mrs. Bradford, saying, “Do look across to that 
corner; your brother-in-law seems unusually devoted to that 
young lady.” 

“You mean Gerald? He plays the agreeable to every 
pretty girl that he meets; he does not intend to marry for 
ever so long: it may be years.” 

She put her fan up shyly as if she was expected to blush. 

“He is too much needed in society just now,” said one, 
“to step into matrimony. He is always so cheerful.” 

“That is the secret of his popularity. Cheerful people 
are welcome everywhere. Ill-natured people are a discordant 
element in society; they ought to stay at home.” 

“And you think society cannot spare Gerald even to 
marry?” said Mrs. Bradford. “I must tell him before he 
commits himself.” 

She sailed over and broke up what seemed to be a very 
interesting tete-a-tete. 

“Ah! she will leave no stone unturned to capture that 
brother-in-law,” remarked one of the ladies. 


94 


THE NOVICE, 


'‘Is that her object?” said another, equally observant. 

“The idea!” said a young girl, “her faded face com- 
peting with so many fresh, beautiful ones.” 

“Perhaps she expects her wits to carry her through.” 

“She is pretty even yet; is she witty too?” 

“Wit is a winning card;” said Dr. Winston, who was passing 
as the word “wit” reached his ear, “and those who can’t 
be witty substitute sarcasm; the one wins admirers, while the 
other makes enemies.” 

“Gerald Bradford is leading Lily to the piano; there he can 
sing love to her in spite of interference.” 

“They seem to have a perfect understanding with each 
other in those love songs.” 

“Do you know that he goes every week to sing with her, 
in foul as well as in fair weather?” 

“He does? Some people think he will marry her instead 
of Miss Raymond.” 

“Gerald Bradford marry?” said another, coming toward 
these gossips, “what in the world would Dr. Winston do?” 

“Inez will console him.” 

“She is such a guileless, confiding girl; just suited to be 
one of the Doctor’s pets.” 

“Damon may have his Pythias- still; friendship is an un- . 
selfish affection. Love has its jealousies, its doubts, and 
its revenge.” 

“Do you speak from experience or observation?” 

“Both; if Mr. Bradford and Mallie ever marry, it will be 
the first question they ever settled amicably.” 

“If she sets one day to marry, he will insist on another.” 

“I should not be surprised if they marry for spite.” 

“Do you think marriage would settle their disputes?” 

“I think there would be some risk in the matter.” 

There was a visible stir: the bridal party was entering. 


CHAPTER IX. 

Promoted. 

j^NE morning as they left the dining room, Gerald said. 

“Mary, I have employed a rough boy, whom I wish to 
train for my office.” 

“A rough diamond that you will polish for future use.” 

“Yes; he must have at least the rudiments of an educa- 
tion before he can be of much use.” 

“Why not take one who has some education, and not 
bother with that part of the training?” 

“Many of the educated ones are trained in vice.” 

“This one, I suppose, is ready for the potter’s field, to be 
molded as you like.” 

“The ‘potter’s field’ is a burial ground; he is not exactly 
dead, but he is a lump of clay that the potter can mold into 
some useful form.” 

“You know what I mean; you are always correcting me.” 

“I am practicing ‘home rule’ so that I can manage a wife 
when I get one.” 

“Do you expect to find a wife submissive?” 

“Of course; if she loves me, she will strive to please me.” 

“Much you know about women,” said she with a sneer. 

“I know that none of them are more amiable than my 
charming sister. I wish a teacher for this boy, and it is time 
Percy had a governess.” 

“Mercy ! Do you expect him to associate with my child?” 

“The boy may learn many vices in the public schools.” 

“Yes; there the rich and the poor mingle socially.” 

“Not that; but the evil associate with the good, and vice is 
an easier lesson than virtue." 


96 


THE NOVICE. 


“Give up Lucile? That would break the the child’s heart/’ 

“I know he loves her, but is she competent to teach him?” 

“I don’t know; she may be able to teach the rudiments.” 

“The rudiments require the most talented teachers, so that 
they may not have to unlearn many mistakes.” 

“The best books would have no mistakes.” 

“Sometimes the teacher draws on her own stock of infor- 
mation. When I was a boy, my teacher told me that men 
have one less rib than women, because Adam lost one.” 

“I cannot give up Lucile; Percy would annoy me so.” 

“Annoy you? His presence ought to give you pleasure, 
and he ought to have the benefit of your supervision.” 

“What do you propose?” 

“Has Lucile any education besides theatrical gleanings?” 

“She uses fine language.” 

“What kind of books does she read?” 

“I do not know, as I never go to the nursery. I send for 
Percy now and then to see how he is spending his time; he 
is outgrowing his ill-temper.” 

“If you never go to the nursery, do you know how or when, 
your child is bathed, or what he eats?” 

“Is he not improving all the time?” 

“He does not seem to be neglected, but a boy of his age 
is so impressible: he ought to be with you more.” 

“Pshaw! I can’t bother with his books.” 

“Your influence ought to be better than that of a nurse.” 

“Gerald, you are much more dictatorial than your brother, 
my dear husband, ever was.” 

“Forgive me, Mary; I was considering Percy’s interests.” 

He bent over and kissed her brow. She did not like these 
kisses, though she was very fond of him; there was brotherly 
love, but not the ardor of a lover. 

“Is not Lucile competent to fill the place of governess?” 


THB NOVICE. 


97 


“The change of title from nurse to governess is a decided 
rise in the social scale; even poverty-stricken aristocrats 
often condescend to become governesses.” 

“No matter about her rise; if you decide to keep her, she 
might teach both boys at different hours.” 

“If Percy only liked Jane, she could coax him away.” 

“I will provide for his entertainment; one day I will take 
him to the Park, another day to the Pauper Home.” 

“For mercy’s sake ! To see those dirty, ragged urchins? 
Their language may be as foul as their clothing.” 

“He ought to see every grade of humanity in order to 
understand their wants.” 

“Can he not learn charity without mixing with that class?” 

“Charity is not all that is needful to understand; he must 
know that ignorance is debasing and sin easily contagious, 
and that idleness is close neighbor to vice.” 

“Some thoughtless people have good intentions.” 

Mrs. Bradford was weighing her own shortcomings, which 
came trooping through her mind; she intended to be saved, 
but for the present she kept out of places where the Divine 
Spirit might trouble her conscience.” 

“Mary, we are too apt to think that God is not heeding 
our ways when we glide into sin; the sparrows are much 
smaller than we are, yet they are not forgotten,” 

“Is Percy old enough to go to Sunday school?” 

“Surely he ought to go; will Lucile object to taking him?” 

“Object? I shall not consult her, but send the boy there 
as elsewhere; I dare say she would be glad to go,” 

“Her going might be a diversion, if nothing more,” 

“He must carry his nickles to give to missions,” 

“Some gift to the poor would be a better lesson for him 
than dropping nickels into an incomprehensible mission box. 
There are thousands of poor people up among the mountains 


98 


THE NOVICE. 


who need education and religion as much as the heathen of 
other countries, and a little money would do more good up 
there than thousands in Japan or India.” 

“Why, Gerald! Don’t you give to missions?” 

“Yes; but I give most where I see the best results.” 

“Gerald, you surprise me. Poor ignorant Ghinese ! how 
much I desire to help them !” She looked as discouraged as 
if some one had refused to let her go preach to them. 

“The Chinese are not so ignorant. Many centuries ago 
they were the best astronomers, and they cultivated some of 
the fine arts; their grand porcelain factories employ over a 
million operatives, and you have forgotten their silks.” 

“It is true they build handsome towers of porcelain, and 
make beautiful silks; but that will not save their souls.” 

“Mary, are you trying to shove me off as a missionary?” 

“You? dear, no! it must be some one else.” 

“What, then, is the object of your missionary sermon?” 

“Learned Chinese and senseless idols! What a depend- 
ence for a great nation!” 

“Their learned men regard their idols as mere types of 
deified virtue; and, in rejecting salvation through such inani- 
mate objects, many of them have become atheists.” 

“I thought that they all bowed down to wood and stone.” 

“Their lower classes attach much importance to symbols, 
just as the ignorant and superstitious do elsewhere: the rabbit 
foot and snake bones are worn by negroes as charms.” 

“Why did the Chinese exclude foreigners so long?” 

“Their first foreign visitors were opium smugglers.” 

“Then, they judged other nations by their renegades.” 

“Science is opening the way for Christianity. Dr. Allen 
has written a book, which has fallen among the Chinese like 
a bombshell: it has roused the dormant minds of the people 
in every province, even to Tartary.” 


THE NOVICE. 


99 


“Like a bombshell? Did it make them so angry?” 

“He won their admiration by his knowledge of science. 
In this book he explained to them the wonderful mysteries 
of the telegraph, the telephone, electric lights, etc.” 

“Dr. Allen translated portions of the Bible into their lan- 
guage; if the learned read it through curiosity, the Holy 
Spirit may enlighten their eyes.” 

“They are not so eager for our religion as for the laws 
of science. For awhile some may think the gospel a cap- 
tivating fiction; others may doubt his motive, and forbid 
its circulation. The Christian intelligence of Dr. Young J. 
Allen may yet subvert their idolatry.” 

“Do you think the heathen will be lost?” 

“That depends on the advantages that they possess, the 
virtues they cultivate, and the vices they suppress.” 

“If they have a chance to escape from future punishment, 
why carry Christianity to them?” 

“But the divine command embraces all nations, ‘Go ye 
into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature.’ ” 

“That settles the question of foreign missions. Those 
who cannot go, should contribute to the help of those that 
do go; but what can be done for those of our own country 
who never attend church?” 

“Only the Salvation Army can reach such people, or have 
any influence over them.” 

“What? Those fancy-dressed fanatics?” 

“We must not judge them by their dress; they attract the 
crowd, and may do much good among some classes.” 

“Does the Arab’s Koran teach morality?” 

“It seems to be a mixture of Jewish laws and Christian 
faith. In the second book is found this passage; ‘A guide 
for the pious, who believe in the mysteries of faith, and per- 
form their prayers, give alms, etc.’ ” 


100 


THE NOVICE. 


“What is the style of the Koran? Is it like the Old 
Testament or the New Testament?” 

“It is not like either; yet the language is so pure and ele- 
gant that the Arabs say, ‘No human hand could have penned 
it without inspiration.’ ” 

‘ ‘ M any of their wars were supposed by them to be approve d 
of God, because they were crusades against wicked nations.” 

“What a wonderful man you are ! full of zeal for the good 
of others, without the least touch of bigotry. Are you free 
from prejudice in your political opinions as in religious ones?” 

“I acknowledge that party spirit has much influence over 
my judgment.” 

“I would never cast a vote for an intemperate man or a 
vagabond.” 

“You mean a villain; they are self-made, circumstances 
make vagabonds.” 

“Do you think women ought to vote?” 

“I should dislike to see any sister of mine among the 
rabble at the ballot-box.” 

“If mothers, sisters, and wives would use their influence 
against the use of liquor, we might yet save thousands from 
ruin and despair.” 

“Why don’t you join the Woman’s Christian Temperance 
Union?” 

“I think I shall; and you, sir, must introduce a bill in 
Congress to — ” 

“If I go; if is the only barrier that stands before my going.” 

“Of course, you will go at some time; and you must put 
in my bill for — ” 

‘‘Your 

“Yes, of course; the bill for woman to vote against liquor.” 

“A bill for a woman (that’s you) to vote,” 

“Gerald, you know very well that I meant all women.” 


THE NOVICE. 


101 


“That includes negro women, too; they love liquor, and 
would vote to have saloons. Their votes would overbalance 
those of the white women who are anxious to be at the polls.” 

“If you are opposed to the votes of women, I will not vote 
for you when you run for Congress.” 

“If I were out on that ticket, you would be glad to have 
me elected.” 

“That depends upon my going to Washington with you.” 

“Are you actuated by a desire to work for temperance in 
the lobbies?” 

“Perhaps it is a more selfish wish: I would go to see and 
be seen, which is the height of a woman’s ambition.” 

“Women sometimes aid their friends in carrying a bill 
through, by special attentions to some uncouth M. C. who 
is a novice in society. He feels flattered by a request from 
some stylish lady to vote for a bill that neither concerns 
him nor interferes with his interests there.” 

“What a humiliating position for a woman of refinement 
to feel obliged to show some approval of coarse, homely 
expressions in order to gain the votes of those who utter 
them !” 

“We must sometimes submit to disagreeables to accom- 
plish good results.” 

“Why do they send such men to Congress?” 

“Those same rough men may understand the wants of 
their state better than more polished citizens. Coarseness 
is neither villainy nor impurity.” 

“Yes; the Devil may decorate vice with an attractive 
exterior.” 

“Even the dens of vice are made attractive; the gaming 
and the drinking saloons have handsome carpets, and marble 
tables with cut glass and silverware.” 

“The devil is wise as well as proud.” 


CHAPTER X, 

What’s in a Name? 

T he summer blooms faded and floated away with the wind, 
even the ‘last rose of summer’ was preparing to follow, 
but the roses left in their places many golden and crimson 
seed vessels, and these were courting the inspection of Percy. 

The leaves and flowers of the orchard were so closely 
allied in species as to offer him but little interest; now their 
autumn fruits were grateful to the eye and luscious in their 
flavor. Will any agent of Satan ever tempt the boy with 
that poison extracted from the fruit, which will benumb his 
brain, cloud his intellect, and even check the tide of life that 
is pulsing through his body? 

The trees of the woodland were changing their dress, and 
richer colors were now in vogue. The kernels of the brown 
nuts were encased in hard shells, so that the quantity eaten 
might be lessened and delayed for the sake of health. 

When Percy was tired of cracking and picking nuts, his 
boyish propensity for throwing was fully gratified. The little 
sparrows, chattering and fluttering almost within reach, might 
have been a chosen target, but they seemed to feel no fear. 
Did they understand that the boy lacked practice and skill? 
Did instinct teach them whom to avoid? A frisky little squir- 
rel was peeping over the limb of a tree to bark at Percy, 
Was he disputing the ownership of those nuts? Men who 
have reason as well as instinct, do the same thing. “The 
earth is the Lord’s,” yet men contend for the ownership. 
Men are the stewards; do they pay any tithes? 

Lucile and Percy had returned from the Park after a long 
ramble through the shaded walks; she was arranging her 


THE NOVICE. 


103 


disheveled locks when was she startled by a summons from 
Mr. Bradford to come to the library. 

She wondered for what indiscretion she was to be repri- 
manded. While adjusting the hateful nurse’s cap, she pon- 
dered over the events of the week to prepare herself for 
some defense. 

“Come, Percy dear, let’s go down stairs.” 

“What for? I am not near done counting these nuts.” 

“Let them be; I will help you when I come back.” 

“Umph ! Here is a hole in this nut, and a soft little worm 
crawling out. It is all I can do to crack these nuts with a 
hammer; how in the world did the worm cut into this one?” 

“An egg was laid in the nut when it was young and soft; 
and after this worm hatched out, it must have gnawed this 
hole by long and constant work. It is not always the strong- 
est that succeeds best, but the patient, continual worker.” 

“Who would have thought it could do such work?” 

“Come, we must not keep your uncle waiting.” 

“Lucile,” said Percy as they came down the stairs, “we 
have but few butterflies for our museum; are they all gone?” 

“The worms that change to butterflies may now be in the 
houses they spin; if so, they will stay there until spring.” 

“I would like to see inside of their houses, wouldn’t you?” 

“I will show you a picture of one of their houses.” 

“Uncle Gerald, have you seen houses made out of silk?” 

Percy walked up to his uncle’s side, but he was surprised 
at the frown that seemed to be his only answer. 

“What nonsense have you been telling this boy?” said 
Mr. Bradford to Lucile. 

“He means the cocoons of the silkworm,” she replied. 

Her dignified manner was somewhat defiant, in spite of 
her self-control. Her brow was slightly contracted with 
unpleasant conjectures, while she was searching through the 


104 


thb novice. 


bookshelves for a volume on entomology in which Fer'cy 
might see the various stages of the silkworm, pupa, and 
butterfly. 

‘•How much education have you?'’ said Mr. Bradford. 

She was too much surprised to formulate an answer; what 
could she tell him? He mnght ask her where she was edu- 
cated. She could not refuse to tell him, nor — no — -she could 
not tell him an untruth. Her better angel prevailed over 
the evil spirit that was tempting her. That conquest over, 
she was prepared to act; she had decided in her own mind 
that any prevarication would be a rnild form of lying. 

“If you will excuse me for a moment, I will show you the 
degree of advancement that I have made/’ 

Mr. Bradford was trying to settle the question of govern- 
ess or no governess; either she must fill the place, or she 
must — ^^hov could he turn her out homeless and perhaps 
friendless? As a Christian he could not do that; and yet 
two women employed in the same house, could they live in 
peace, or would he have to settle their disputes? His sister- 
in-law had no difficulties with Lucile, but theirs was a dif- 
ferent relation. Lucile had much spirit; she was haughty; 
perhaps she was antagonistic. 

He supposed that Lucile had gone for some books that 
she had used in school; but when she returned, she handed 
him a letter and a silk-plush case. He found in the case a 
diploma from one of the best colleges. The letter, which 
was dated four years before, was from the President of the 
college to Col. Richard Jerningham, commending the fault- 
less behavior, Christian spirit, and high order of intellect, of 
his daughter, the recipient of the diploma. 

“Clare Burch Jerningham, Is that your name?” 

She bowed her head without speaking. 

“Why did you change your name?” 


WE NOVICE. 


105 


His Voice was so cold and stern that she lost her self-* 
posession, and her resolution to conceal nothing was faltering; 
she was pale and silent. He repeated the question more 
gently, “Why did you change your name?” 

Her cheeks regained their color and her eyes brightened. 
The temptation suggested by morbid fear was overcome, 
and her moral courage was about to assert itself. 

“I gave my name as Lucile Burch; have not Clare and 
Lucile the same meaning?” 

“Yes; from the Latin lux, lucis, light; and clara, bright. 
But you dropped your surname; what was your object?” 

“Why are you so persistent in your curiosity? My services 
are yours, my family affairs are mine.” 

Mr. Bradford smiled almost pleasantly; her replies were 
so novel, and her moods so peculiar. She was a problem 
that had baffled him so often that now he began to feel more 
interested in its solution. Nurses, crimes, and all else were 
fading from his mind. 

“I ask your confidence to befriend you if any danger — ” 

“Danger? What do you know?” said she, turning pale. 

“Nothing; you shall have my protection at all times.” 

“You could not help me.” The hopeless tone of her voice 
was very pathetic. 

“I might, at least, be able to defend you.” 

“If you would befriend me, I beg you never mention the 
diploma, the college, or my real name.” 

Tears were standing in her eyes, and her hands were 
tightly clasped. “Don’t mention them, please;” she con- 
tinued pleadingly, “no, not even to Mrs. Bradford.” 

“Why not confide your troubles to her?'' 

“Women do not always regard confidences as sacred.” 

“Don’t conceal your troubles; they are a canker to brain 
and heart. ‘What’s done can not be undone.’” His fist 


106 


THE NOVICE. 


came down with such a heavy thump that she was startled, 
but she made no reply. 

“If you have other unavoidable trouble,” his voice sank 
low and even tendef, she thought, “then we may find some 
Way to aid yOu.” 

He was watching her while she stood smoothing One palm 
of her hand Over the other. 

“.Trust me awhile longer for — what f seem.’' Her eyes 
■were begging the same question, 

“For what yOu seem?’' His tones were almost Vehement, 
He then changed his tone, as if some forgotten thought had 
Just occurred to him; he was alrnost provoked at what 
seemed to be a stubborn refusal to communicate any facts 
concerning her past history. 

“For what yOu seem?” he repeated. 

“Yes; I scarcely dare think, much less speak, Of myself.’' 

“Where are your parents?” 

“In heaven.” She cast a yearning look upward, as if she 
Would like to fly away from her presetit trials and fears. 

“Where are yOur friends?”' 

“They have forgotten me.” 

She w'as quivering in every fiber Of her muscles; the ordeal 
Was too great a strain upon her nerves. 

The day was cool, and the hard pavement resounded with 
every passing footstep. Patter, patter, patter came the feet: 
the heavy, irregular stride of the market boor; the soft tread 
of the trained fOotman; the quick, elastic step of the dry- 
goods clerk. All these passed by while Lucile stood by the 
Window, looking out: she neither saw nOr heard any of them, 

Mr. Bradford noted every peculiar movement on the street 
While he was debating with himself whether he would keep 
a suspicious character in his house. Or find for her some 
other home, and then employ an experienced teacher. 


THE NOVICE. 


107 


Some slight movement of Lucile attracted his attention. 
Possibly, something in the street had excited her; she leant 
closer to the window in a listening attitude. 

Mr. Bradford could hear only a heavy, measured tread on 
the pavement below; nearer and nearer it came, now it was 
at the door. Then, with frightened eyes, she flew to his 
side, and clutched his arm with both hands. 

“Girl!” said Mr. Bradford, seizing her hand to unclasp it, 
but its icy touch checked the stern rebuke. She was pant- 
ing like a timid bird. He paused for a moment for her to 
recover from her fright, and then he continued, “You must 
explain all this; I demand an explanation; there is some 
reason for this sudden fright.” 

His voice seemed to recall her senses; she stood aloof; 
she regretted what she had done. How in the world could 
she have forgotten herself so far as to grasp his arm? He 
was the last man from whom she should seek protection. 
Yet he might think it was intentional. What could she do 
to retrieve herself? Innocence, unlike vice, is never long 
in finding some reasonable excuse for its mistakes. 

“Please pardon me for an act which I know was rude, 
but I was too frightened to be conscious of my actions.” 

“Are you a fugitive from justice? It seems to me that 
no one else would act in such a manner.” 

He fully expected her to resent the implied charge, but 
she surprised him by saying pleasantly, “Yes, a fugitive; but 
a fugitive to justice, and noi from it.” 

He did not understand the import of her reply, and he 
asked, “Have you ever taken part in any drama?” 

“Yes; but I was not with a strolling troupe, as you have 
often hinted to Mrs. Bradford; and my part was too insig- 
nificant to furnish you any clues.” 

“Was your crime connected with some theater?” 


108 


THE NOVICE. 


“Crime? Why do you take me for a criminal?” 

“Why did you run to m.e when that policeman passed?” 
“You had unnerved me by alluding to the name by which 
1 am known elsewhere, I did not think of a policeman.” 
“Why do you try to mislead m.y judgment?” 

“You are a lawyer, and I am now in your power.” 

“A lawyer’s promise is as sacred as that of anyone else.” 
“I do hope so.” 

“In my case you must know so. I promise now never to 
betray your name or even mention this conversation.” 

“You are a lawyer, and you may regret such a promise.” 
“Have lawyers no pity?” 

“Pity? Their logic forces a criminal to the gallows.” 

“It is the law, not the lawyers.” 

“Signs of pity in a lawyer’s face would influence the jury.” 
“ H ow do you know? Where were you ever a witness or — ’ ’ 
“Say criminal; I shall deny nothing.” 

“Nor acknowledge anything,” said he. 

“Is this inquisition at an end?” 

“You provoked the inquiries by your change of names.” 
“Yes, my pride misled me; I had forgotten about the 
name in my eagerness to show you how a ‘fool’ graduated.” 

“Forgive me for that mistake, too; you must remember 
the role of silly nurse, which you affected in the beginning.” 

“I am ashamed of it now, though I had a special object 
in acting as I did.” 

“You deal in enigmas, which seem to have no possible 
solution. Then I cannot win your confidence?” 

“No.” 

“Nor your forgiveness?” 

“No.” 

“Do you accept ;ny promises?” 

“I must.” 


THE NOVICE. 


109 


"Come, Percy,” said she, taking his hand to raise him 
from the floor, where the natural history lay open. 

"Stay; 1 have other business with you.” She turned her 
face toward him, and he noticed how pale and weary she 
seemed to be; then he remembered she had been standing 
all this while. "Sit there, for you have stood too long; you 
have not the strength of an Irish nurse.” 

"It is not that: I need her callous nature.” 

"I am glad you have it not.” 

"Thank you; I am at least human, though only a nurse.” 

"I had another object in view when I asked about your 
education; it was not curiosity.” 

"You are anxious about the child, and would like to know 
what fallacies I may be teaching him?” 

"By no means; I wanted to change your position from 
nurse to governess.” 

Her face brightened perceptibly as she said, "Do you not 
fear the result? Might it not cause me to be presumptuous?” 

"A governess has rights that a nurse has not.” 

"I desire no privileges that would be unwillingly granted.” 

"I have a rough specimen of a boy for my office work, 
and I desire him to be taught the elementary branches.” 

"You wish me to teach him?” 

"Yes; teach both children, but at different hours.” 

"I understand: there must be no intimacy between a serf 
and the heir of the household.” 

"That is the idea. Keep them apart.” 

"I shall consider this new task fine missionary work; he 
will be the first sheaf harvested for the Master’s use.” 

Gerald looked intently at the pensive face; he thought her 
expression not unlike that of Murillo’s virgin, but the features 
were entirely different. At times there was the strength 
and determination of a powerful will, but now those facial 


no 


THE NOVICE. 


lines were softened by holy thought. How the spirit within 
beautifies or mars the whole face ! What a transformation 
Would be realized if she had sympathy and congeniality ! 

“Tut!” said he to himself, “only a nurse;” then he said 
doUd, “Your first sheaf may be housed by the Catholics if 
you prefer, but he must be taught truth and honesty.” 

“I need not send proselytes to a Catholic church, though 
I have much reverence for their active piety.” 

“They are active in working for their own church.” 

“Do others work for any but their own church?” 

“Perhaps not; their main object should be to save souls, 
rather than to enroll members. You must impress upon 
this boy the advantages, even in this life, that will accrue to 
him by his being moral; and you should show him that trials 
and disappointments are the results of sin.” 

“Will you prescribe the course of study?” 

“I will procure such booRs as are used in the public 
schools, and I will leave the rest entirely to your judgment.” 

“ ‘The way of a fool is right in his [or her] own eyes;' 
and, of course, I am not lacking in self-reliance.” 

“I have a request to make of you: drop forever the word 
fool, and take off that nurse’s cap.” 

“I thank you very much; I thank God more.” 


CHAPTER XI. 

A Rough Diamond, 

rp ARLY one morning of the following week, there stood in 
^ the library door a neatly clad boy, with clean face and 
closely trimmed hair. His feet were broad parallels, placed 
many inches apart, and his hands were buried in his pockets. 

“Well, boss, here I be.” 

“Good morning, sir.” 

The boy ducked his head with a jerk, without speaking. 

Gerald Bradford could not resist the temptation to laugh, 
when he looked at this comical apparition. 

The boy interpreted the laugh as a full appreciation of 
himself and his wonderful suit of new clothes. He returned 
the compliment with a broad grin; his gratitude demanded 
a verbal expression, but he felt at a loss as to the diction 
that might be expected. 

“Well, boss, you see 1 got ’em.” 

He glanced down at his clothes, and spread out his hands 
for better inspection; but, like some public speakers, he found 
“language inadequate to express” his sentiments. The oc- 
casion demanded something, and he wriggled for the proper 
thing. Big words were impossible, and profane ones seemed 
to be next in order. 

“Boss, I jes tell yer. I’ll be darned ef they ain’t the very 
thing to strut up Broad Street.” 

“You must use no bad words.” 

“I didn’t zackly say a cuss word.” 

•‘Darned is very coarse.” 

“Umph ! is it?” His idea of the word coarse referred to 
size rather than quality. 


THE NOVICE. 


1 12 

“I thought you meant damn; I knowed I nuver said that.” 

“You must never use either word again.” 

“All right ! beg pardon, though; tony folks like you don’t 
use cuss words, do they? I hyearn ’em say ‘by George.’ ” 

“How are the people at the Home?” Gerald asked this 
question to change the subject, for he remembered that he 
often yielded to the temptation to vent his temper b^ the 
use of some byword. 

“Some uv ’em’s po’ly; t’others is up an’ about.” 

“Did the seed your grandfather planted come up well?” 

“A fine passel did; t’others wuz scatterin.’ ” 

“Have you been home since you got your new suit?” 

“Yes, siree!” said he, rubbing his hands, “and I’ll be d — 
I like ter said a cuss word agin. I jes’ tell yer, not a one uv 
’em knowed me when I got thar; not — er — ” 

The boy twisted and wriggled first on one foot, then on the 
other; he scratched his head for one moment, then, for the 
next, he planted his arms akimbo; he looked up at the tops 
of the windows; his eyes were batting and his lips quivering. 
It was evident some thought had weakened his self-control. 

“What’s the matter, boy?” 

“Nuffin’ ’cept — ” 

He was trying to repress his emotion. 

“Out with it !” 

“Boss, I wuz powerful glad at fust; glad tell I seed them 
chillun a lookin’ at me kinder sorry-like. Bein’ as you give 
me these fine clothes, I dassent part wid ’em; but ef they 
wuz some what I yearned, I ruther fur ter give ’em to them 
chillun than to have ’em myself.” 

“Don’t they fit you? Don’t you like them?” 

“Don’t I, though? But them chillun ’pends on me, and 
’pears like I caint want nuffin’ what they cainf have too.” 
His coat sleeve was growing damper with his tears. 


THE NOVICE. 


1 13 


“How do they depend on you?” 

“When I gits jobs ter cut wood, I allers buy fur them 
same as fur myself.” 

“Are they kin to you?” 

“No; only gran’pa says God made them well as me, an’ 
we be the same in feelin’.” 

“You divide your earnings with them?” 

“1 allers does, boss;” he added in a low tone, “ef you got 
ole clothes what you don’t need, caint you give ’em ter Joe 
and Bill? Them women can cut an’ splice ’em up ter fit 
them boys.” 

“One face of the diamond;” mused Gerald, while his eyes 
were moist, too, “more Ghristian love and tender sympathy 
in an uncouth boy than may be found in most cultivated (?) 
church members.” 


****** 

The next day a toy engine came for Percy’s amusement 
during the time when Jim would recite his lessons. As the 
engine was wound up like a clock, and could do its own run- 
ning without explosion, the boy found much entertainment 
without meddling with books or papers. 

Jim’s grandfather had taught him his letters by pounding 
them one at a time into his tired brain, on the long Sabbath 
afternoons, when neither had any other kind of amusement. 
His reading was in a long-meter tune that the old man had 
learned in his youth, when the manner of reading was thus: 
‘ ‘ N 0 — man — may — put — off — the — law — of — God. ’ ’ 

Jim’s slow tune soon put the old man to sleep; then the 
boy vanished. 

Lucile found Jim a tough subject for the usual methods 
of teaching. It was easier for him to follow the old ruts 
formed by his grandfather than the new lines traced by her. 


THE NOVICE. 


1 14 

“Read as if you were talking,” was the daily command; 
and the invariable “Yes’m” followed as a matter of habit. 
Jim was listless and quiet when she read for him, but he 
failed to catch any inspiration from her manner. His poetry 
was chanted by the jingle of the rhyme, without reference 
to the ideas expressed or the systematic order of the poetic 
feet. His prose was hackled out as if each word was an 
individual idea, which must not trespass upon its neighbor. 

Jim’s incredulity was a serious drawback to the success 
to which she hoped he would soon attain. He refused to 
believe there was enough water in the world to make an 
ocean; he thought the rivers on the British Isles must have 
been only spring branches, which dried up in summer; conse- 
quently, he was obstinate about learning their names; he did 
not understand the comparative heights of the long-necked 
giraffes and the lofty mountains; he thought the former might 
be horses whose necks grew longer than usual, on account 
of their stretching up to eat from the tops of those mountains. 
Lucile was provoked at Jim’s obstinate indifference to those 
facts which were doubtful to his mind; he was so different 
from Percy, who accepted her statements as positive evi- 
dence, under all circumstances. 

One evening Lucile rapped at the library door. Mr. Brad- 
ford was surprised at her flushed face and contracted brow; 
she had been accustomed to conceal her feelings at all times. 

“Mr. Bradford — ” 

Her voice held a tone of appeal, and her eyes were moist; 
her lips quivered but refused to articulate other words. 

If Mr. Bradford had shown any impatience at the inter- 
ruption caused by her entrance, her pride would have checked 
the display of any emotion that appealed to his sympathy. 
But he was not vexed, he only smiled; and that little act 
turned loose the flood gates of her tears, and she wept like 


THE NOVICE. 


115 


a helpless babe. The next instant she was angry with herself 
for weeping, and angry with him because he saw her weep. 
That smile, too, was it not heartless? 

“What can I do for you?” The tone was not mocking, 
but almost tender. 

“Nothing ! I have proved myself a ‘fool,’ and you can feel 
no interest in my folly,” she said in sharp, rapid tones. 

She wanted no pity for her weakness, but she needed help 
in her trouble. She turned to leave the room. 

“No, no, don’t go; stay and tell me of your troubles.” 

“How can I now? I am ashamed of my weakness.” 

“Tears are womanly, but not a weakness.” 

“Then womanly means physically weak; you should have 
said childish.” 

“Hard, unfeeling, even cruel, is that woman who never 
sheds tears.” 

“You are very kind to put such construction upon very 
silly behavior.” 

“I was sincere; now tell me what you came to say. ” 

She sighed deeply; then she lifted her brow to calm her 
features, and began, “Jim — he — ” 

Her eyes were filling again, and her lips trembling. 

“What has Jim done?” said he sternly, “if he has dared 
to be disobedient. I’ll thrash him!” 

“No, no, Jim has done nothing; it was my fault, and—” 

“Well, I can’t thrash you, you know,” and he laughed 
good-humoredly. 

“Well, I need it for being so silly; I don’t know why I 
came to act so.” 

“I know very well; you are worried, disappointed in some 
of your plans.” 

“How do you know?” 

“I have traveled the same road.” 


THE NOVICE. 


\ 16 

“Did you ever teach?” 

“No, I never taught; but worries are all kin.” 

“Do your kind wring out the tears?” Both were laughing. 

“I am not womanly.” 

“You mean to say you have not her weakness.” 

“You are wandering; come back to the point.” 

“Yes, I am hindering you; excuse me.” 

“No, I can’t excuse you until you confide your trouble 
to me.” 

Confide! He said confide; she almost forgot her trouble. 

“Jim is not to blame for his obstinate credulity; I am a 
failure as a teacher; I can’t fix his attention; 1 can’t win his 
confidence.” 

“His credulity?" 

“Oh, no ! I mean his incredulity; he accepts nothing as 
truth that is not manifested to his senses.” 

Lucile now described the lessons: Jim’s manner of reci- 
tation, his whims, his doubts, his wild theories, his contempt 
for things which seemed to him to be impossibilities. 

Mr. Bradford sent for the boy every few days to help him 
to comprehend things unseen. His testimony strengthened 
the boy’s faith in the words of Lucile. She was hoping that 
his increasing faith would soon be ready to grasp spiritual 
ideas; she was thinking of the sheaf that she had promised 
to garner for the Lord. 

Gerald was not mistaken in his idea of his rough diamond. 
He knew that his incredulity would lead to close observation, 
and later to researches in science and literature. His stub- 
bornness was firmness, so far ill-directed. The boy was 
strictly truthful, and that was the pivot on which Gerald de- 
pended to turn him in the right direction. Would Lucile have 
the necessary patience? Yes: patience never flags when 
there is a single ray of hope. 


CHAPTER XII. 
An Adjunct. 


jjEY, Gerald! I was looking everywhere for you.” 
j “You were?” I was delayed at home; what’s the news?” 

“lam just from the Pauper Home; a sad state of affairs 
out there. The old man’s wife is sick and needs careful 
attention.” 

“There are enough women to nurse her, I am sure.” 

“They are too ignorant to be of much service; they need 
an intelligent woman to direct them.” 

“I am sorry to hear this; now is the time for our adjunct.” 

“Our? I thought your adjunct was to fill the bill.” 

“I can’t marry the strong-minded woman needed there.” 

“You will claim the undivided attention of your wife; that 
is settled. The woman for that place must have some dignity 
and much self-control; above all, she must be a Christian.” 

“You mean she must be sympathetic and conscientious.” 

“Any other kind would fail to enlist their attention or gain 
their confidence.” 

“Where is such a Christian woman?” 

“What about the governess? She has an intelligent face.” 

“You have seen her, then?” 

“Yes. Why have you not mentioned this lady before?” 

“The governess? She was the nurse until lately.” 

“Nurse? Indeed! how came such a girl in that position?” 

“That is her unfathomable mystery. She resents any 
effort to discover her antecedents or her former residence.” 

“If the governess will accept, we can pay wages.” 

“She is proud, and she may fly off at a tangent when the 
request is made.” 


THE NOVICE. 


118 

“Can’t you manage her by flattery?” 

“Flattery? She would receive it with silent contempt; 
she is sensitive, and refuses to talk when provoked.” 

“1 think I have a correct diagnosis of her case.” 

“Diagnosis?” said Gerald in a tone of disgust, “her pecul- 
iarities are not infirmities. I suppose a tailor would say, ‘1 
have her measure;’ and a grocer, that he ‘had her weight.’ ” 

“And a lawyer, my dear fellow, v^ould speak of circum- 
stantial evidence." 

“You will never understand her; she is an enigma.” 

“Gerald, your abominable pride will always keep you on 
uncomfortable stilts. If she is intelligent, you might con- 
descend to talk with her. I have seen you chat by the hour 
with a silly girl, because she belonged to one of the first 
families.” 

“That is true: in society I do my duty as one of the beaus.” 

“Is it necessary for intellectual people to waste their wit 
on simpletons, because they have inherited a little money? 
It is casting pearls before swine.” 

“Yes, but it is necessary when the swine has a gold ring 
in her snout.” 

Both laughed at the ridiculous idea suggested. 

“That appendage may be used to lead her to the altar.” 

“Ralph, I think Inez may look well to her laurels.” 

“My interest in the governess will never lead to a proposal. 
I shall advise Inez to make her a visit.” 

“As a missionary duty?” 

“Indeed, no,” said Ralph coldly, 

“Lucile would perhaps accept the position from you, while 
she might haughtily reject it from me.” 

“Possibly so. Good day.” Dr. Winston turned away. 

“Ralph, don’t go. You are much better than I am; you 
are right about my pride; say, what must I tell her?” 


WB mVlCB. 


^‘Gefald, you are a dear old fellow, but you have one very 
,^reat fault: you are too haughty,” 

“Ralph, your profession arouses yOur sympathy. You feel 
a tender regard for every one, no matter in what station.” 

“The same God made all, and is he not Father of all?” 

“I will speak to Lucile to-day.” The two men separated^ 

Dr. Ralph Winston was one of that restless kind of men 
who find real pleasure in useful activity; he pitied those 
human drones who are willing to he dependent upon the 
generosity of others. Such men are not always lacking in 
talents, hut they neglect Opportunities. They fall to grasp 
the power that lies within reach. 

“Lazy people,” thought Dr. Winston, “live out hut half 
their days. Their blood becomes sluggish, their muscles 
flaccid, their nerves relaxed; and they are fit subjects for 
contracting diseases.” 

He was wondering if an infirmary for lazy people could 
not be established, — ^a place where some dominant spirit 
Could train or lead them into some new field of usefulness.. 
"‘Idleness is the crime of the genteel vagrant,” thought he. 

As Dr. Winston approached his office, he ceased to worry 
over the failings of other people. How much easier it is to 
see the faults of others and prescribe for them than to find 
our own, or devise any plan to correct them. 

The invalid at the Pauper Home was the next vision that 
arose above the mental horizon of this busy man. She 
needed more attention than he could possibly give; his time 
must be divided with other patients whose diseases were 
equally dangerous. His profession furnished many phases 
in the study of human nature, and he felt quite sure that 
Lucile was the kind of woman for the superintendence at 
the Home. He thought she might accept work that would 
benefit others and yield a small competence for herself. 


120 


THE NOVICE. 


“Lucile means light; the term may be prophetic. I must 
know her,” said he. His anxiety was tempting him to 
return and plead with her to go; but several messengers 
Were waiting for him. Some had prescriptions to be filled; 
others were patients that needed his assuring advice; and 
absent ones had sent for him, who needed his quiet tones, 
his gentle touch, and his soothing potions. 

But in the midst of it all, the face of Lucile kept bobbing 
up, as if she was a living presentiment. Other governesses 
were out in society who had influential relatives to keep 
them afloat. A little money would place her at the very 
top of the social ladder. That face would attract much 
admiration, and money would greatly enhance her charms. 

****** 

A few hours later Lucile stood upon the top of a small 
ladder, busy with pruning shears; for the vines of the summer- 
house were forcing their way within, where the thorns, like 
hidden foes, made unexpected stabs. Percy stood near with 
a large basket to catch the offending branches. If they had 
not been alone, Lucile would not have ventured quite so high. 
The long branches, dangling from the low roof, had torn many 
sleeves for her, and one brier seized Percy by the cheek. 

“Lucile, you are now conquering the last enemy.” 

“Yes; but this one is a tough customer.” She made vig- 
orous strokes, and the ladder was shaking out of its position. 

“Lucile!” The unexpected sound startled her; she lost 
her foothold upon the slender round. The long branch clung 
to her by its piercing thorns. Before she had time to realize 
what had happened, Mr. Bradford had loosened the clinging 
briers from her bleeding hands. 

“I hope you will pardon a rude act. My climbing has met 
a deserved punishment; I had no idea any one was near.” 


THE NOVICE. 


121 


“I regret startling you: 1 was about to warn you that the 
ladder was slipping; I mads an effort to catch it, but failed.” 

“The fall was nothing.” 

“Are you hurt?” 

“Not seriously.” 

“If you are sure that you are not hurt, be seated. I have 
a message for you, and I — ” 

“Message?” A thousand fears crowded through her mind. 
Gerald noticed her changing features with deep concern. 

“Yes; from Dr. Winston.” She felt so much relieved 
that the color was coming back to her cheek, and she waited 
with pleased curiosity. 

“1 scarcely know him.” 

“He knows you, and he has commissioned Gerald 

was about to shift the responsibility from his own shoulders — 
“he has commissioned me,” he repeated, “to offer you some 
missionary work.” 

She was curious to know if they were planning to get rid 
of her. If she had failed to give satisfaction as teacher, 
would they give her time to find another home? 

“Have you not the spirit of a missionary? 

“It would depend upon the field selected.” 

“There is a sick woman at the Pauper Home.” 

For a moment there was a flash of defiance in her eyes; 
then she bowed her head, as if submissive to the inevitable. 

“Dr. Winston — ” 

She looked up quickly. Gerald smiled at the change and 
continued, “Dr. Winston wants some competent woman — ” 
For the first time he seemed at a loss for language. 

“To live at the Pauper Home and nurse the sick. 

She said this with a slight frown and curling lip. 

“No, no, you mistake my meaning;” he said gently, “I 
would not insult you with such a proposition.” 


122 


THE NOVICE. 


She was keenly sensitive to the least change in the tone 
of his voice; his sternness excited her pride and gave her a 
defiant strength, but softened tones weakened her self- 
possession and started her tears. 

“What then?’' She faltered. 

“Dr. Winston” — he did not say we — “wishes some one, 
that is, some intelligent, Christian lady,”- — he wondered if 
this compliment would open the way for the proposition — 
“to go out to the Pauper Home once a day, and give direc- 
tions to those women about nursing the sick and preparing 
food for them.” 

“You suggested me?” 

“No,” said he, smiling pleasantly, “he asked if I thought 
you could be induced to undertake the work,” 

“And you told him you would send me?” 

Her defiant tones amused him; he was quick to perceive 
her anxiety to find out whether he had a part in the planning, 

“No, indeed; I told him the suggestion would offend you.” 

“You think I have a terrible temper, I know. I’m not the 
least bit civil.” 

“Forgive and forget; your enmity toward me should not 
extend to Dr. Winston. He is a good man, and he judges 
others by himself.” 

“We all judge that way,” said she, smiling pleasantly. 

“I am sorry to hear you say that.” 

“I understand the inference, but — do you suppose that I 
can fill the place?” 

“Yes; better than any one else if you are inclined to try.” 

“Flattery will not incline me more.” 

“No; your conscience should have been the target.” 

“Do lawyers revert to a term so obsolete as conscience?” 

“You are bitter. Did some lawyer rob you of your heart?” 

“Would you expect me to tell you, if he had?” 


THE NOVICE. 


123 


She was laughing; he knew that if it had been so, she 
would have been angry; for it would have exposed a tender 
spot in her memory. 

“Dr. Winston directed me to say to you that he would pay 
whatever wages — ” 

“Wages? I thought the debt was to conscience.” 

Gerald’s handsome face beamed with smiles; he was 
beginning to understand this peculiar girl; perhaps, after all, 
he might win her confidence, and be able to remove the 
cause of her trouble. 

“Dr. Winston thinks all work should be remunerated.” 

“If Dr. Winston will pay for suitable food and other needed 
articles, I will take this missionary work.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Thank God, for I am only his agent.” 

“When will you be ready to visit the sick woman?” 

“When I can be spared here; I can’t take Percy with me.” 

“Some one can entertain the boy while you are away.” 

“I think I can do all that is necessary there, and self- 
confidence is a desideratum.” 

“Have you had any experience in the sick room?” 

She did not reply; Gerald expected some playful answer; 
he was -surprised when he looked up to find a troubled and 
confused face; she rallied in a moment, and seemed con- 
sidering what to say. 

“Experience? Yes, I have been thrown among the sick, 
and required to use remedies prescribed by a physician. I 
have watched the varying pulse and changing temperature.” 

She was restless and under some restraint. Gerald was 
sorry for her. He imagined that some painful memories 
were recalled by allusion to a sick room; he hastened to 
divert her thoughts by saying, “Dr. Winston may have cause 
to be jealous of his assistant.”’ * 


124 


THE NOVICE. 


“I did not know then that I would ever have any use for 
the knowledge gained there.” 

“Where?” he inquired quickly. The next moment he 
apologized. 

She fully appreciated the' tone of regret; and her eyes were 
expressive of gratitude when she glanced up at him, and 
said, “In the sick room,” as if she did not know the import 
of his where. 

She noticed the smile of amusement on his face, but she 
had not the conceit to interpret it as the thawing of his feel 
ings toward her; she remained perfectly indifferent. 

The smile, of which he was not conscious, was the result 
of satisfied curiosity; he had found the key to her varying 
shades of temper. His feelings were such as we all expe- 
rience when we have solved some difficult problem. To 
him she was merely a friendless girl, — nothing more. 

“Dr. Winston will probably call for you in the morning.” 

“No, no; I can go with Jim, and I prefer to walk.” 

Such determined independence surprised Gerald; he had 
thought of his own vehicle, but he doubted whether she or 
Jim could manage his spirited horse. It would not be con- 
venient for him to go, was the apology to his conscience, but 
not to her. His aristocratic stilts were much lower of late, 
but not exactly down to her level. 

Dr. Winston’s profession carried him among all classes 
of society; he was a privileged character; his dignity would 
not be compromised. Gerald had not long to think of 
all this; for just then Dr. Winston drove up to the gate, 
and, seeing Gerald in the garden, he hailed him. After a 
few moments’ debating, they came to the summerhouse to 
complete their arrangements concerning the Pauper Home. 

Lucile was fully determined to walk there; but when Dr. 
Winston said he would call, she did not know what to say. 


THE NOVICE. 


125 


If he had asked her to have a seat in his phaeton, she could 
could have made some excuse; but as he spoke with so 
much authority, and she was to be in his employ, she felt at 
a loss what to do or say: she was silent. 

As Lucile had not refused the proffered ride, she knew he 
would return in the morning; and now she was considering 
whether she should break a resolution that she considered 
binding, or be guilty of an inexcusable rudeness. She settled 
the question, as most people would have done, by choosing 
the plan least annoying to herself. 

If she displeased Dr. Winston, she would have to meet 
him either with a bold face or a sheepish one. She quickly 
decided that she could not do either, and indifference would 
be Impossible. 

When Dr. Winston and Lucile reached the Pauper Home, 
one of the women rushed out to say, “Hurry, Doctor, she’s 
powerful bad off; ’pears ter be chokin’ fur want of breath.” 

“There may be congestion in her weak lungs,” said he. 

“Will strong stimulants remove the pressure and prevent 
a hemorrhage?” asked Lucile. 

“Where did you learn that remedy?” he asked. 

As they were entering the door with noiseless steps, the 
inevitable where could not be answered. 

By the time Dr. Winston had used some internal reme- 
dies, Lucile came from the kitchen with a poultice, hot with 
cayenne and fire. 

“That will relieve the lungs,” said he. 

Lucile taught the women how to stroke the limbs gently, 
after the rubbing that they had given, in order to quiet the 
disturbed nerves. 

As soon as the woman could breathe freely, she seemed 
eager to sip the beef tea that Lucile had prepared. 

“Is this right?” said Lucile, appealing to Dr. Winston. 


126 


THE NOVICE. 


“The very thing needed; food in the stomach draws some 
of the blood in that direction, and animal food stimulates.” 

“Are breadstuffs needed yet?” 

“No; when the glands of the throat are diseased like hers, 
the digestive juices from those organs are scant, and they 
fail in the work of converting the starch into sugar.”' 

“Is it useless or injurious in that state?” 

“In its starchy form, when it passes with the venous blood 
through the lungs to be purified, it clings to their delicate 
tissues, and decays.” 

“I remember a similar case at the — ” 

She stopped suddenly. 

“Where?” 

She might have known that the odious where would come 
next after her imprudent speech, and how could she avert it? 
Now she had it. 

“Look there. Doctor, she is beckoning to some one; I 
will run to get some water for her.” 

“Do you always run when questioned?” he asked when 
she returned. 

“Always,” said she coldly. 

“I hope the time may come when you will confide in me 
as a brother.” 

“I hope so, too,” said she earnestly. 

As they left the house, he said, “A lady friend of mine 
will call to see you very soon.” 

“I thank yo:/ for suggesting the thought to her.” 

“How do you know this?” said he without denying it. 

“Your profession cultivates a sympathy for the friendless.” 

“What about lawyers?” said he, smiling down at her. 

“They deal with criminals, and they — I don’t know — I 
don’t like to say.” 

“You will like the lady of whom we were speaking.” 


THE NOVICE. 


127 


“How do you know? Every one has his or her particular 
fancies; we do not always like those whonn we admire.” 

“Finding fault before you see her: that is unjust.” 

He understood her process of reasoning better than she 
thought; he loved Gerald, while she did not even like him. 

****** 

As Jim came slowly up the street, with a mail satchel 
strapped over his shoulder, he was mumbling over a news- 
paper. “C-o-n, that spells con; s-t-i, that’s sti; but there 
ain’t no sii in the name Constuiion. I’ll go at it agin. C-o-n, 
con; s-t-i, and down he came. He was tripped up by the 
foot of an old market woman, sitting on a box by the side 
of the pavement. The nodding woman tumbled over; and 
her eggs rolled from the basket in every direction, spattering 
their contents upon the curbstone. 

Now fully awake, she scrambled to her feet to take in the 
situation and look for her only treasures. Eggs were as 
much to her as so many gems were to those who wore, but 
did not earn, their jewels. 

“Yer blamed boy ! whar’s yer eyes? My foot ain’t so little 
but what you can see it.” She looked around for her basket, 
and spied the broken eggs. Words could not express her 
indignation; she raised her stick and flew at the boy to deal 
him a blow, but a hand behind them seized the stick. 

“Who’s that?” she asked in nervous tones; a vision of 
policemen and jails was floating through her mind. When 
she saw Gerald, she asked, “You a man, an’ take sides agin 
a poor woman?” 

“I’ll pay you for the eggs; it was an accident; he was less 
to blame than you; your foot tripped him up.” 

“Get up, Jim;” said Gerald, who had seized the stick, 
“are you much hurt?” 


128 


THE NOVICE. 


“It scared me so, I thought a whole team run over me, 
Them’s a lot of eggs lost; can’t you charge ’em to mie, an’ 
let me work out the pay?” 

“Why don’t you get up?” 

“I does keep tryin’, seems like somethin’s wrong ’bout 
this here foot; it hurts powerful bad.” He winced with pain, 

Mr. Bradford hailed a cab, and hurried home with the boy. 

Fortunately Dr. Winston was at his office when sent for. 
As soon as he saw the foot, he sent for Lucile. 

“Miss Lucile, please get bandages ready; some of these 
small bones about the ankle may be dislocated.” 

“I can order a supply from the drug store.” 

“No, Gerald, that is not necessary.” 

In a few moments Jane came in with a basin of hot water, 
and Lucile brought bandages and raveled lint. 

Jane’s awkward movements forced a groan from the ’ooy, 

“Move, Jane,” said Lucile, taking her place to bathe 
the foot. 

“This hot water will relax the muscles and lessen the 
pain,” explained the Doctor.” 

“Will the hot water reduce the swelling?” 

“If the water is hot, it will carry off some of the swelling 
by evaporation; any volatile liniment will do the same.” 

The boy bore the pain bravely; but when told that he must 
not try to walk for some time, he fought back the tears by 
winks and blinks, and said, “How’ll you get the mail?” 

“Jim, my boy, I can go for it while you are lame.” 

“Well,” thought Lucile, “this tantalizing man has some 
feeling,” 

His tones brought Jim’s tears, and the salt bath from his 
wet handkerchief left his face red, and as slick as an onion, 

“Never mind, Jim;” said Dr. Winston, “you can have a 
nice picture-book to amuse you while you are kept still.” ' 


THE NOVICE. 


129 


“Jim,” said Lucile, who stood stroking his hair with her 
hand, “would you like to see Roy, your pup?” 

“I can’t go, nohow,” said he, still sobbing. 

“Dr. Winston can tell your grandfather to bring Roy.” 

“But, Miss Lucile, gran’ma will miss me; what’ll she do?” 

“There are plenty of women to take care of her.” 

“Them women can’t do what I can for her.” 

“Jim, my boy, don’t fret; you can ride there very soon.” 

“Boss, 1 don’t min’ the hurt, but 1 can nuss gran’ma 
better’n anybody.” 

“I’ll tell the women how to nurse her.” 

“They’ll min’ you, Miss Lucile; they got no learning, but 
they know folks what’s got feelin’.” 

“When Roy comes, won’t Percy be glad to see him?” 

“Percy? Well, he mustn’t pull his tail.” 

“1 don’t pull dogs’ tails,” said Percy in an offended tone. 

“I was only afeard you would do him like you do kitty, 
an’ I knowed he’d snap at you, an’ maybe bite you.” 

“Kitty don’t snap when her tail is pulled.” 

“But she scratches, don’t she?” 

“I don’t care for scratches,” said Percy in a positive tone, 
while he rubbed a long red scratch on the back of his hand. 

“Some folks say cats’ claws is pison; I know their scratches 
git mighty sore, an’ long time gitting well.” 

“Let’s have your dog brought here; I v/ant to see him and 
kitty fight.” 

****** 

Dr. Winston went with Gerald to his dressing room to 
wash his hands. 

“What do you think of Lucile for a matron at the Home?” 

.“Not a matron, Gerald; she is a girl. A supervisor or 
directress would sound better. No one could do more there.” 


130 


THE NOVICE. 


“Does she talk sensibly about the work there?” 

“Sensibly? Does she ever condescend to talk any other 
way,” 

“I know she will control them out there; elevate a woman, 
and she will always show a disposition to domineer.” 

“Is sending an educated lady to a poorhouse elevating 
her?” 

“But the governess business may hoist her on stilts.” 

“She is above even that position; your head is too near 
the ad astra plane to appreciate those beneath you.” 

“I certainly have no ambition to become your rival.'' 

“Beware! The fates may punish you by a worse choice.” 

“I thought you were going to say the fates would doom 
me to celibacy.” 

“Well, all I have to say, is, all hail to our fair adjunct ! 
A noble, Christian woman !” He wiped his hands, pulled 
down his cuffs, and then hurried out. 

****** 

As night came on, the light clouds were succeeded by 
darker ones, which fell in heavier showers. The wind, which 
had been whistling about the eaves of the house, increased 
in violence. 

At twelve o’clock, Lucile was aroused by Jane with a 
note from Gerald, requesting her to come to Jim, as he was 
suffering much more than usual. She dressed hurriedly and 
went down. Gerald explained that when he telephoned for 
Dr. Winston, no one replied; and if there had been a re- 
sponse, he doubted whether even he would venture forth in 
such a storm. While he was talking, Lucilc was examin- 
ing the swollen foot. 

“These bandages must be removed,” said she positively. 

“Why?” 


THE NOVICE. 


131 


“Too tight; they will interfere with the circulation.” 

“How do you know?” 

“No nnatter how; this is no time for discussion. You 
will excuse me if I seem rude, but the boy needs my whole 
attention.” 

“Did the physician give such directions?” 

“He did not, but it is necessary to save the foot.” 

For once, Gerald was unable to contend with her. He 
sat near, watching her movements and wondering where she 
learned her surgery, as he called her dressing of the foot. 

“You must have seen similar cases.” 

“I have.” 

The where was on the tip of his tongue, but he did not 
say it. He only said, “I know nothing of such things, and 
I leave it all to your judgment; do you need anything?” 

“Yes; I need your help.” 

He wondered that she needed even that of him. Moving 
nearer to her, he said, “Such help as it is, I will gladly give.” 

She unrolled the bandages, bathed the foot, and applied 
arnica “to stimulate the congested blood vessels,” she ex- 
plained; then she began to replace the bandages. Her long 
hair, not being confined by the cap, uncoiled, and fell in 
curling tresses about her face. 

“Jim, put my hair back out of my face.” 

Jane had left the room with the basin of water. 

“Miss Lucile, I can’t reach that far.” 

“Mr. Bradford, will you hold this bandage a m.oment?” 

“I dare not tamper with loose bones; but if you will permit 
me, I may manage the hair.” 

He took the long curls of the front hair, carried them to 
the back of her head, and fastened them with his scarf pin; 
but the slender pin sank into the soft hair, and soon the 
shining mass was about her face again. The touch of those 


132 


THE NOVICE. 


silken threads was a new experience to him; he knew that 
Percy’s locks were soft and fair, but they were not at all like 
this hair that he was awkwardly gathering up again. 

“1 am not very skillful in this coiffure business.” 

“You would certainly have no desire to be.” 

“1 like to be a success in everything that I undertake; 
why do you suppose I would rebel in this particular case?” 

“Effeminacy is antagonistic to manly character.” 

“I would not choose hair dressing as a profession; but I 
pronriised to help you, and I find myself a failure.” 

“By no means.' I am very thankful for your presence, that 
you may see the benefit of the dressing.” 

“I am thankful for your skill in this emergency; imagine 
the suffering of the poor boy, if you had not been here.” 

“Jim is free from pain now, and I have finished dressing 
the foot. Many thanks for relieving me of this hair; I was 
in such haste when I started down I forgot the cap.” 

“Forget it always, hereafter; such hair as yours should 
not be injured by a covering of any kind.” 

Jim now laughed audibly. 

“What is it, Jim, that tickles you so?” 

“Boss, you had Miss Lucile’s hair, holding it like a man 
driving a calf with a rope over its head.” 

“Not a calf, Jim; call a lady a calf?” 

“He should have said mule,” remarked Lucile. 

“A falcon, tethered to the wrist.” 

“Thank you; 1 can flutter away after that,” said she, start- 
ing to leave. “But seriously, are you not afraid that I may 
become presumptuous?” 

“1 am too much obliged to resent your attack.” 

“Attack?” said she, coming back, “I am on the defensive. 
The wages I receive, cancel all obligations; the cap is my 
badge of servitude, which — ” 


THE NOVICE. 


133 


“You are governess, and many of our first families have 
held that position; it is certainly not that of a servant.” 

“The change does not elevate meV* 

“No; you elevate the position.” 

“My position has been my crime.” 

There was a mingled feeling of pride, bitterness, and 
resentment, which she could not entirely overcome. 

“If you will leave off that cap, we will quarrel no more.” 

“The cap, then, is the dividing line between the upper and 
the lower strata of society.” 

“Apologies, though polite, never undo an injustice; and 
you are the last woman to receive such redress.” 

“Yes; an apology cannot change the heart that prompted 
the act,” said she, 

“The heart had nothing to do with it in this case; it was 
the judgment.” 

“Not the judge, but the judgment, is to blame.” 

“The blame lies in the concealments that misled the judg- 
ment,” said Gerald. 

“If I am the only one that did wrong, why do you allude to 
an apology?” 

“Opinions sometimes change when we understand one’s 
motives,” he replied. 

“Pshaw! The friendship of fickle people Is like shadows 
that amuse for awhile, then vanish with the shifting light.” 

She was gone. Gerald pondered over his amiability; he 
wondered if sympathy for suffering did not curb one’s aus- 
terity and awaken tender emotions. He thought Ralph had 
grown more amiable since he became a physician. 

The next morning Dr. Winston inquired whether Jim 
needed the narcotic during the night. 

Lucile then described his swollen foot and its pain. 

“What did you do?” he inquired anxiously. 


134 


THE NOVICE. 


“I did not give the narcotic — ” 

“I hope not,” he interrupted. 

Then she told him of the bathing, and the relief that it 
gave him.” 

“Relief, of course; do you know what you have done?” 

• “Yes; I have saved the foot — ” 

“From mortification and amputation!” he whispered. 

“Thank God !” 

“And now tell me, what good spirit came to whisper this 
remedy, during a storm.?” 

“! remembered a servant of my father’s, who lost an arm 
by tight bandages. As there were no broken bones, I ven- 
tured to- bathe it.” 

“You are om woman that might be a success as a doctor?” 

“Only om? Thousands might have done the same.” 

“I have known Sisters of Charity who — ” 

He was interrupted by an involuntary start from her; then 
he rememibered her night’s vigil. 

“You need rest,” said Dr. Winston. 

“Then you think only a few women would succeed as 
physicians?” asked she. 

“But few have self-control under trying circumstances; 
they must not when their services are needed most.” 

“Is fear contagious?” 

“A frightened glance would take away the sick man’s 
hope, and a partial paralysis of the whole body v/ould ensue.” 

“So joy is a fine tonic in sickness as well as in health.” 

“It is the tonic that you need as much as exercise.” 

“I find pleasure in doing my duty.” 

“A woman’s duty is to look pretty and be amiable; then 
she wields a power that no man can resist.” 

“If a woman has no higher purpose in life than to make 
herself attractive, of what use would her power be?” 


THE NOVICE. 


135 


“Her smiles exalt men into ecstasies; her flirtations drive 
them frantic.” 

“That kind of men and women are found only in novels. 

I think real women should be good, wise, and useful.” 

“Well, they will need those three things to make their 
homes so attractive that men will prefer to stay there; then 
grogshops, gambling saloons, and round dances will be re- 
membered as things of the past.” 

“Married women might save their husbands in that way, 
but what about the young men?” she asked. 

“The girls must manage them, of course.” 

“The least show of interest in their welfare would be con- 
strued as a tender passion. Men are conceited, you know.” 

“Are your remarks intended to be personal?” • 

“What? About the tender passion?” 

Both laughed merrily. 

“I think Cupid never tampers with the hearts of practical 
people like us.” 

“I, at least, will not trust him,” said the Doctor, taking 
his hat. 


CHAPTER xnr. 

Systematic Charity. 

J IM was so accustomed to active exercise that he sOOn 
became restless and weary of the confinement, necessary 
since his ankle was sprained. He was wheeied into the 
library, where he could be amused by books, maps, and pic- 
tures. But these objects soon faiied to satisfy his longing 
for boyish sports in the open air. 

“Miss Lucile, if Roy comes, I can't play with him.” 
“Never mind; your grandfather will take care of him.” 
“But he'll forget me.” He sighed, much distressed. 
“Dogs rarely forget those that have been kind to them.” 
Splash, splash came the raindrops upon the windowpanes; 
the cheering sound roused the boy. The air must have been 
like new wine, so exhilarating were its effects. 

Fresh air and cold water are nature's best, purest stimu- 
lants, — tonics that never injure the most delicate nerves or 
the most diseased muscles. The sun was still shining, and 
its light glittered in each falling drop. 

“Miss Lucile, raindrops shine like diamonds, don’t they?” 
“These diamonds come to us as pure and bright as real 
stones. We do not have to waste half a lifetime in working 
for them, and are not afraid of losing them by burglars.” 
“But they melt when we touch them.” 

“We prize their short visits because they come so rarely.” 
“Real diamonds stay; do their owners get tired of them?” 
“No, no; diamonds advertise their wealth.” 

“They want people to know they’re rich, don’t they?” 
“Yes; merchants advertise their goods; shoemakers, their 
shoes; grocers,—” 


THE NOVICE. 


137 


"But they are things to sell.” 

"People who are born rich think very little about their 
wealth, but those who grow suddenly rich advertise their new 
possessions by expensive clothing and flashy jewelry.” 

"Them sort are like peafowls strutting in the sun.” 

"Did you ever see a proud boy?” 

"Umph! I don’t mind clothes if they be ’spectable.” 

"You would like to wear diamonds, I know.” 

"I nuver tried ’em; if I get rich. I’ll buy a big house.” 

"Will it take a larger house to hold you, if you are rich?” 

"It won’t be for me, but for po’ folks what haint got a 
home.” 

"Can’t they live at the Pauper Home?” 

"All of ’em can’t get in there; I want lots o’ room,” 

"Then you must name your house Omnibus.” 

"I don’t want it to run on wheels.” 

"No; but omnibus means ‘for all.’ ” 

"It do? then hurrah for my Omnibus!” 

"Are you going to have furniture like that at the Home?” 

"Pint blank like ’em; my boss put ’em there,” 

"What did he put there?” 

"All them beds, cheers, and sich like. You see po’ folks 
musn’t be spiled by things over-nice; they might get ’bove 
doin’ work, and want to set up an’ do nothin’ like rich folks.” 

"God commands us to work; and if we idle away our time, 
our bodies will become diseased and die early.” 

"Is that so? I reckon that’s the reason why lazy folks 
look so yaller an’ feel so porely.” 

"Is your boss agent for the Pauper Home?” 

"Dunno what a agent is; but my boss gives ’em all they 
git to eat an’ to wear, an’ lots of outside things, too.” 

"Perhaps the County Commissioners furnish the money, 
and have appointed him manager of the establishment.” 


138 


THE NOVICE. 


“Dunno ’bout that; the fust spell gran’ma had I went for 
Dr. Winston an’ tole him I’d work out the pay; but he haint 
give me a job yet. I ’low to pay him the fust money I git.” 

“That’s right: always pay every debt.” 

I’ll do it. I ruther work as to beg; it’s more ’spectable.” 

“Dr. Winston is a kind man; he — ” 

“Kind? You don’t know him; he is mostly like a angel, 
'cept he don’t wear dresses.” 

Lucile’s laugh convinced Jim that he had made some 
blunder, and he was looking very sheepish. She remem- 
bered his criticisms of the lo.ig flowing robes of the angels 
in various pictures. 

Gerald came in with the mail. He was walking slowly 
up the hall, examining the letters, when he heard Jim’s com- 
parison, and he was laughing, too. He came up to Jim and 
patted his head, saying, “Jim, my boy, do you think there 
are no men among the angels?” 

“I know good men go to heaven; but the angels in books 
all wear frocks, and they look like women.” 

“You are a close observer; I must make a lawyer of you.” 

Jim shook his head solemnly. He did not seem to have 
any ambition to become one of that profession; he hung his 
head for a few moments. 

“Boss, 1 ruther not study law; 1 wouldn’t like to get folks 
hung if they is bad; ’cause some folks ain’t had no raisin’.” 

“We must hang their parents, Jim; won’t that be right? 
They are responsible for their children.” 

Jim was in a silent, thoughtful attitude; he scratched his 
head, as if that act would clear his doubts. 

“Why does a farmer kill one crow to hang up in his field?” 

“To keep t’other crows from pulling up the corn.” 

“That’s it; one man is hanged as an example for others.” 

“1 ruther keep outen scrapes.” 


THE NOVICE. 


139 


“But, Jim, a lawyer’s work is not always disagreeable: he 
finds pleasure in defending the innocent.” 

Gerald left the room, and Jim continued his story about 
the changes that had taken place at the Pauper Home. 

“Miss Lucile, I was going on to tell you ’bout ’em both. 
Dr. Winston, he come an’ looked ’bout the rooms; he frowned 
his face and said, ‘Bless my soul !’ ” 

Gran’pa, he seed he wern’t pleased ’bout something; an’ 
he told him how it tuck all he could make to get ’nough for 
all of ’em to eat an’ wear, let ’lone things for the house.” 

“What was wrong about the house?” 

“None of us knowed what he was bothered about. He 
asked ’bout the ’Missioners; we tole him they haint done 
nuthin’ that we knows of.” 

“Did he stir up the Commissioners?” 

“Dunno; but the next day Doctor an’ my boss, they come 
together, both of ’em. They went in an’ out everywhere; 
nobody knowed what was up; we all peeped about, an’ felt 
kinder oneasy less they ’spected us in some scrape.” 

“Was there a policeman with them?” 

“No; but we knowed Mr. Bradford, ’cause we seen him 
in the courthouse, telling ’bout people breakin’ the law, ’an 
how they oughter go to jail. He looked at every one of us, 
an’ he looked at everything ’bout the house an’ yard. Well, 
what you reckon they come for?” 

“I have no idea.” 

“Ever sence that time, ev’ry week here come han’ cyarts 
full of things to eat an’ wear, too. My gran’pa, he thinks 
them two sends the things.” 

“Dr. Winston is a Christian gentleman.” 

“My boss, too; he is the best as fur as money goes; he 
don’t stand on money where he sees it’s needed; gran’pa says 
the angels will mind his steps an’ keep him outen trouble.” 


140 


THE NOVICE. 


Lucile was counting her stitches in a piece of crochet, 
and she made no reply. She was thinking how great the 
pleasure must be to those that are able to give to the poor. 

The goods of this world are very unequally divided; but 
every man gets as much as he will work for and use properly. 
The things of this world belong to God; how few tithes we 
pay for the use of the part that we have accumulated ! 

How many of God’s poor are we helping? How much do 
we pay to the church? Even if we are not members of any 
church, still we owe the same debt. 

Lucile had visited the Pauper Home regularly for several 
weeks. She found the inmates very willing to submit to her 
directions about their dress, their habits, and the order and 
neatness of the house. Her kindness and sympathy won 
their esteem, her dignity kept them at a respectful distance. 

Intelligent Christian women need neither the pulpit nor 
the rostrum to increase their facilities for usefulness; the 
way is open to a broader field. The poor of our land need 
their recognition and help. If educated women would gather 
up the extreme poor into a class meeting, where they could 
pray with them, comfort them, and lead them to seek for 
help from on high, who knows the amount of good that each 
might do in the vineyard of the Lord? 

Lucile had met Dr. Winston many times during the visits 
to the Pauper Home, though she made no plans for that 
purpose. She had to go only when she could be spared from 
her duties at home. 

The old grandmother had gained sufficient will-power to 
leave her bed, and overcome her disposition to whine over 
failures and misfortunes. After an absence of many days. 
Dr. Winston came back to look after his convalescing 
patients, and he was greatly surprised to see the various 
improvements made since his last visit. As he entered 


THE NOVICE, 


141 • 


Ihs gate, the children, no longer ragged but quite as shy, fled 
around the corner of the house, where they could see with* 
out being seen. He glanced around at the neatly swept yard 
and smiled pleasantly, Joe poked his slick head out of the 
window, and his face was expanded by a broad grin as he 
said, “We chillun done all that sweepin’,” 

As the Doctor walked in, the floors glistened with the 
marks of the late scrubbing; then Joe met him, saying, “She 
tole us to.” He knew who she was. 

Dr. Winston praised the children for their nice work, and 
divided nickels among them as a reward for good deeds. 
He expressed delight at the clean, freshly scoured floors. He 
.said they had driven out all diseases beyond their reach, and 
that sin had few temptations for busy people. He told them 
God had appointed six days for work and only one for rest. 
When he entered the sick room, he found the old lady 
sitting in an armchair, with a dainty cap on her head and 
a muslin tie at her throat. She smiled pleasantly when he 
entered, and laid her knitting upon the table, 

“She told me 1 might get out of bed, and 1 done it” 
“That was all right” 

“She brought me this knittin’ so I’d forget my sufferin’s,” 
“That was a splendid idea, too,” 

“It ’peared like 1 couldn’t try, but now 1 like to knit,” 
“Talk of woman’s power.” said ^ Dr. Winston to himself, 
as he was going toward home, “she has done as much for 
the sick woman as I did. As to the rest of them, she has 
revolutionized the whole house. I told them to be industrious 
and economical, but they needed some one to direct them.” 

Dr, Winston made no allusion to Lucile’s former position 
m the Bradford family. He still remembered that there was 
.some clue connected with the Sisters of Charity. She must 
have been educated by them, and she knew how to work. 


i42 


THE mVlCB. 


She directed the women at the Home in their work, but she; 
used no offensive words. Scolding would have created a 
rebellion in which she herself nnight not have escaped abuse. 

Even now Gerald Bradford was afraid of compromising: 
his dignity by any civility toward Lucile. As Dr. Winston 
was returning from the Home, he said to himself, “Gerald 
surprises me; he usually reads character remarkably well r 
but in this instance he is blinded by a foolish pride.” 

There v/as an impatient frown on the Doctor’s face, and- 
he seemed to be considering some plan to help Lucile. He- 
gave his horse an unnecessary jerk, as if hs had in some^ 
Way opposed his plansHhen he said, “I wish she had a more 
congenial home, and some day she will have.” He smiled 
pleasantly, as if he were peeping into a future in which he 
would take a part. He called by for Inez, who had prom- 
ised to make Lucile a visit. 

As they rode toward the Bradford mansion, he advised Inez 
not to call for Mrs. Bradford when she made this visit; but 
he gave her no reason, Inez supposed he had some special, 
motive for this request, and she said nothing about it. 

He did not care to discuss Lucile’s position, and thus 
injure her by cruel surmisings. He knew that closeted skel- 
etons would be wretched companions, and worse enemies to 
congenial friendships. 

He hoped that the warm heart of Inez would expand, and 
draw to her this lovely, Christian girl; and that their friend- 
ship would be established before Mrs. Bradford or any one 
else could prejudice her against Lucile. There was nothing 
coarse or rude in her manners; indeed, there was an unaf- 
fected simplicity in all that she did and said, which was 
charming. If her misfortunes were too sacred to be con- 
fided to others, why should he, or even a curious lawyer, 
seek to know more than she was willing to communicate? 


THE NOVICE. 


143 


Reserve and timidity are not always used as a cloak for 
crime, nor do crimes always rest beneath them. 

She had intimated her need of friendly counsel, and he 
recalled his promise to give her any assistance in his power. 

What was it that startled her, when he was speaking to 
her about the Sisters of Charity, whom he had met in a 
hospital? He remembered her pale face, and how soon she 
changed the subject 

“Dr. Winston!” exclaimed Inez, tapping his arm with her 
cardcase, “are you dreaming?” 

He jumped as if struck by a thunderbolt, and stared at her, 

“Mr. Bradford hailed us some distance back; this is the 
third time I have told you, and you paid no attention to me.” 

“Gerald? I didn’t see him. Did you say anything to me?” 

“I should think I did, when I repeated to you nearly a 
whole volume that I have been reading in my magazine.” 

“Yes, about Japan; but what about Gerald?” 

“He hailed us while passing his office. I thought you 
saw him the first time he called; but we have gone two blocks 
away, and it is unnecessary to return now.” 

“I was puzzling my brain over a little matter; I — er— 
hope you will forgive me this time. You are not much 
offended with me? Surely not,” 

“Oh, no; you are a physician: if you had not so much 
responsibility resting upon you, I might be offended.” 

“Thank you,” said he rather sheepishly. He was guilty of 
thinking more about another lady of his acquaintance than 
of his dangerous patients. He decided that profound silence 
on that subject might leave a better impression upon Inez 
than a full confession. 

They were scarcely announced at the Bradford mansion, 
when in came Gerald puffing and blowing, as if tired and 
out of breath. 


144 


THE m ViCB. 


‘•Here you are f \ yelled loud enough to be heard fn 
Jericho; I yelled until the merchants ran out to see if their 
stores were on fire,” 

“What was it? 1 did not hear you, \ was driving swiftly 
over the macadamized streets.” 

“A lady had fainted in a dry-goo-ds store/’ 

“Who? I did not see any lady.” 

“No;” said Inez gravely, ‘'you saw no one, not even the 
one that sat beside you in the phaeton.” 

“I have come in a gallop all the v/ay. Things have taken 
a serious turn when a nran becomes deaf and blind so sud- 
denly; I hope Miss Inez has jilted you.” 

“He was dumb, too; I wondered if he had not taken by 
mistake some kind of poison that benumbs the brain. I 
repeated nearly a whole book to him, feeling flattered by his 
quiet attention, when he drawled out, *Ah !’ I repeated that 
the Japanese eat — and before I could finish the sentence, 
he said, ‘Ah, indeed !’ as if he was surprised to hear that the 
Japanese did any eating at all.” 

“Now, Miss Inez, that is your v/ay of turning off a cruel 
comparison; didn’t you say the men of Japan were more 
handsome than the men of other nations?” 

“Why, no; I said their features were more delicate and 
quite refined.” 

“Is' not that the same thing?” 

“Why, no; I meant they were more effeminate, I do not 
admire such faces for men; I like strength, power, and- — ” 

“Why didn’t you say so, then? How do you know that I 
was not pouting?” 

“Ridiculous! The idea of a man’s pouting! ” 

“A woman’s pouting is equally ridiculous,” said Gerald. 

“Men are expected to be less capricious, better poised.” 

“I see no good reason why.” 


THE NOVICE, 


145 


’‘Dr. Winston,” said Inez, “if you are fully awake, I think 
it is time you were looking after the fainting woman.” 

“Another physician was summoned; but as she is a relative 
of Ralph’s, I thought she might prefer to have him there: 
she might wish him to take her home.” 

As Dr. Winston was putting on his gloves, he turned to 
Inez and said, “I will go to her and return for you.” 

He had started when she said, “It is unnecessary for you 
to return, as I have other calls to make on my way home.” 

She moved away with an air of perfect indifference, and 
began a lively chat with Gerald. 

He fully understood the sensitive nature of this little lady, 
and he hastened to mend matters by extolling the virtues 
of his friend. “Ralph is an enthusiast, whom every one 
is prepared to understand. His mind becomes completely 
absorbed in whatever business he feels inclined to undertake. 
You understand our plans in regard to the Pauper Home, for 
I think he confides his every thought to you.” 

“Indeed, no, he does not;” said she in a petulant tone, 
‘he keeps his plans to himself or confides them elsewhere.” 

“My little friend, beware ! Doubts are dangerous things; 
they will undermine the strongest friendship, and change 
love to bitter hatred.” 

“I do not wish him to hate me; I desire his friendship.” 

“You know that you have more than his friendship, and 
his confidence in you can never be shaken until he has evi- 
dence that your feelings have changed toward him.” 

She smiiled proudly amid her blushes, while she examined 
carefully the rent in her glove, and smoothed out the creases 
about the palm; then she found courage to admit the interest 
that she felt by asking him, “Who is this Miss Burch? He 
grows eloquent over her beauty and piety.” 

“Ah? Well, I can put your mind at rest on that point.” 


146 


THE NOVICE. 


“No matter; I’m not the least jealous, you understand/" 
“Of course, you are not,” said he doubtfully. 

• “We are congenial friends, — nothing more,” 

“Nothing more,” said he thoughtfully, as if he was meas- 
uring the chasm between them, 

“Miss Burch has experience; she must be quite old?” 

“It is said that ‘woman and music should never be dated.’ ” 
She was satisfied; that statement settled the question of 
her age: she knew Ralph would never marry an old maid. 
“Well, tell me from whence does this spinster hail?” 
Gerald was amused; but before he could frame an answer, 
a vision of loveliness floated in. The simple white muslin 
was becoming; there were no ornaments except a small 
diamond cross, suspended from her neck by a gold chain. 
Her bangs were a mass of short curls of chestnut hue. 
The general contour of the well-formed head was preserved 
by the artistic arrangement of the long coils of hair. Inez 
was struck with surprise when Gerald introduced Miss Burch. 

“I hope Miss Willett will excuse my delay; I was trying to 
initiate Percy into the mysterious movements of a bicycle. 

I was afraid to leave him until he was firmly settled in the 
saddle, and had the right motion for his feet.” 

“You are certainly excusable; he might have fallen. I 
imagine he is as awkward as a boy learning calisthenics.” 

Both laughed, and they seemed fully acquainted already. 
Congenial spirits are not slow to recognize each other when 
both are free from any prejudice. 

“I ought to have relieved you in that emergency,” said 
Gerald, who was surprised at the ease and self-possession of 
Lucile; he expected her to be shy and silent. 

“Possibly, you might have failed to establish the self- 
confidence of Percy. Men have less patience, you know, 
because they expect too much of children.” 


WB NOVICB. 


147 


"They rely upoe woman for sympathy, in case of a fall; 
they expect men to deride them." 

"Miss Burch, have you had much experience in riding 
bicycles?" said Inez. 

“Not much; I prefer a horse, which I can guide by the 
slightest movement of the bridle." 

“If I were not timid, I think I should like riding." 

“It is unfortunate that you are timid, for a horse fully 
understands the nerve of his rider." 

“Have you ridden much on horseback?" said Gerald, 
who regretted the question as soon as the words left his lips. 

“Yes;" said she with a frown, “I had some experience in 
my youth." 

“Youth? so long ago as that?" said he, smiling pleasantly. 

Inez supposed his amusement to be the result of their 
previous conversation about her age. 

“Yes; I’ve lived more years than your calendar numbers." 

“Then you must have found the perennial fount for which 
the Spaniards searched so long." 

“Thank you,” said she earnestly. She was more grateful 
for his kindly regard than for the commonplace compliment. 

“A long life well spent, don’t you think such are the 
present indications, Mr. Bradford?" 

“I think she must have lived over in dreams some beau- 
tiful life of which she had read." 

Lucile blushed in spite of her resolution to show no feel- 
ing or interest in anything that he might say. But she was 
human; she was young. All ages have pride, and all are 
susceptible to the tender regard of others. 

If we would win one from the error of his way, we must 
show our interest by sympathy for his misfortunes. We 
must not elevate ourselves to a plane far above him, nor 
tread upon his toes by broad hints. 


148 


THE NOVICE, 


The reforfnsd drunkard is the best temperance lecturer; 
he can sho?/- unmistaRable sympathy, for he has traveled 
the same road. 

The smile of Gerald was one of g'enui'ne pleasure; he had 
observed the effect of a kind word, but he must not follow 
up his discovery by continued flattery. He must be cautious; 
his lawsuit nrfight not be a hopeless dream, 

“We seem to be dreaming; who has cast a spell over us?” 
said Inez. 

“Mr. Bradford introduced dreams and eternal youth.” 

“Horseback riding is a great rejuvenator,” said Gerald, 

“Let’s ride; can’t we form a riding club?” said Inez. 

“If you do, you will have to ride in the race course.” 

“Why not in the Park?” 

“1 think the Park is a fine place for the display of graceful 
movements; the body must bend with the curves to keep the 
equilibrium, whether one rides a bicycle or a horse.” 

“Bend like a circus equestrienne?” said Inez, smiling, 
v/hile Lucile looked grave, as she was suspecting the course 
of Gerald’s thoughts; but he added, “That is the way with 
you women: you think more of your personal appearance 
than of the pleasure the pastime affords.” 

“I’ll vote for the Park, anyway.” said Inez. 

“The Park would be a very dangerous place;” said Gerald, 
“so many bright-hued parasols, so many parti-colored robes, 
so many wonderful bonnets with birds of brilliant plumage, 
—such ablaze of color would drive a lively horse frantic.” 

“Then those winding labyrinths must be given up.” 

“Mr. Bradford,” — it was the first time that Lucile had 
ever called his name— “would you forbid racing if the party 
rode in a safer place?” 

“I have no voice in this decision. I merely suggested 
objections to the Park, for the safety of your party.” 


THE NOVICE. 


149 


“Your?” thought Lucile, “does he think that^ I consider 
myself one of them.” 

“Your, indeed;” said Inez, “are not you one of our club?” 

“Excuse me; I thought it was to be a feminine affair.” 

“No; I think it will be jollier to have some gentlemen.” 

“I have but one horse, and he will not carry double.” 

“The idea ! There are plenty of livery stables.” 

“But I can’t be responsible for the life of a timid lady on 
a strange horse.” 

“They advertise gentle saddle horses to hire.” 

“I have seen such advertisements often, but there is no 
certainty about horses. I remember once a gentle family 
horse, twenty-four years old, ran away with a buggy, in which 
there were two ladies. Some boys passed them, waving a 
red silk handkerchief.” 

“Oh, my! did the ladies get killed?” 

“No; they escaped with their lives, and a mud bath for 
both of them.” 

“Well, if gentle horses are not to be trusted, what then?” 

“Ride where there are no boys,” suggested Lucile. 

“Oh, the boys are all right, but we must not ride where 
gay colors are flying; what do you propose, Mr. Bradford?” 

“Ride in the country with an escort who is a fine rider.” 

“A fine rider could only save himself; that would be some 
consolation; but even if he were one’s sweetheart, she would 
prefer to live, too.” 

“Yes, I know;” said Gerald, “the sort of people who would 
die for each other are all dead long ago.” 

“Did they ever live outside of old novels?” 

“You are losing sight of that charming club.” 

“We can’t ride without horses unless we take a seesaw.” 

“A horse knows the voice and touch of a true horseman.” 

“You are not helping me a bit; you are provoking.” 


150 


THE NOVICE. 


“No, I am not; an escort who understands horses can 
manage your horse as well as his own, by speaking to him 
now and then.” 

“I am such a coward; can’t I ride with you the first time?” 

Inez felt that he would not consider this a bold request. 
Was he not her friend and the confidant of Ralph? 

“No; you must ride where you belong.” 

“If you were anyone else, I should say that you were 
very rude.” 

“You have a friend who is the finest horseman in the 
city; you will not need me,” 

“You are supposing too much, and you have refused a 
simple request.” 

“Inez, little friend,” said Gerald. He forgot the Miss, 
but he had known her since she was a child. 

Lucile had stepped to the window to see what had become 
of the young bicyclist; and now she returned and broke the 
silence by saying, “Is the race course circular, or is it long 
and straight?” 

“It is straight, and wide enough for eight to ride abreast?” 

“Ah! that is well; I think those circular courses must be 
dangerous. The very shape suggests the terrible race of 
Ben Hur, in which each driver was determined to win — 
then the terrible crash,” said Lucile, shutting her eyes, as if 
the scene were enacted before her. 

“That is no worse than the bullfights over which Spanish 
ladies preside, and they do not flinch at the sight of blood.” 

“Those opponents were bad men, and Ben Hur only a 
Jew,” said Inez. 

“Christ was a Jew, and God’s chosen people were Jews. 
I forget that they were ever an accursed race,” said'Lucile, 
wondering that Inez had forgotten the character of Ben Hur 
because he was a Jew. 


151 


THE NOViC'z. 

'‘Well,” said Inez, starting to leave, “shall we ride horse- 
back, race in chariots, or take it afoot? I am going home 
now by the last method of travel.” 

“Be seated. Miss Inez. I have a proposition to make. 
We v/ill go to the Exposition next week, and consider the 
riding later on.” 

“Agreed,” said Inez, who was in a hurry to get away 
before Dr. Winston should return. 

“And you. Miss Lucile?” 

“I shall have both propositions to consider.” 

“You women have excuses put up in separate bundles and 
labeled, so you can draw them out at a moment’s warning.” 

“Do go. Miss Burch; we will have plenty of amusement.” 

“Yes, you must go,” said Gerald. 

Lucile was grateful for the polite attentions of Gerald, 
but only in the presence of others. It made her position 
less difficult; she did not suppose that he expected her to go, 
and excuses would be easy enough when the time came. 

Inez grasped Lucile’s hand with a degree of earnestness 
unusual between strangers; somehow she forgot that their 
friendship had only begun. 

“I hope to see you very soon, so that we may complete 
our arrangements.” 

“Very soon? How soon is that? I thought ten days the time 
prescribed in the code of the ‘upper tens’ for the return of 
the first visit.” 

“Mr. Bradford, you seem well versed in feminine affairs.” 

“No; I merely asked for information, as I fully expect to 
claim half of this visit for myself.” 

“Upon what grounds?” 

“On the score of assisting in the arduous task of enter- 
taining you.” 

“Arduous? Well, was your brain severely taxed?” 


152 


THE NOVICE. 


“Please be seated. We have not had time to exchange 
gossip: that is the arduous part.” 

“At your service, sir;” said she, seating herself in the 
proffered chair, “I am waiting to be entertained.” 

“Let me examine my tablets,” and he drew out a long 
notebook, closely written. “First on the list is fashion; but 
I am uncertain whether the fashions are male orfemale.” 

“You are forbidden to discuss our affairs.” 

“1 will announce, not discuss; I never battle when it is 
two against one, especially when I am the one. Well, let 
me see;” said he, turning the leaves of his book again, 
“standing collars are cut off at the band, and a sailor affair 
substituted. 1 culled this information from a newspaper; 
but as women are never sailors, the dress must be exclu- 
sively for men.” 

Both ladies listened attentively to his comments and 
criticisms on various fashions, and especially were they inter- 
ested in his ideas of harmony in coloring. He had the floor 
now, and he was determined to hold his ground in order to 
keep Inez there until Dr. Winston should return. He was 
fearful this slight break in their attachment for each other 
might widen into an impassable chasm if they separated 
without some satisfactory explanation. Imagination often 
suggests exaggerations in the coloring of an evil. Suspicion 
and jealousy are the Devil’s own tools, or rather weapons, 
which wound the hearts of some of our best people. We 
must suppress both as soon as they appear. 

After Gerald had commented on all the most useless and 
the most ridiculous fashions of which he could think, he 
concluded in these words: “I am surprised that sensible 
women do not rebel against the tyranny of fashion; they 
are living dummies for the exhibition of every new fabric 
that reaches +he merchant’s counter. Even if it should be 


THE NOVICE. 


153 


ridiculously unbecoming or uncouth in style, it must be worn 
simply because it is the mode. If men yielded to the same 
folly, I should be wearing a full-grown gamecock roosting on 
my hat.” 

“How ridiculous! You only envy women their gorgeous 
trappings. No, sir; we will always mionopolize the plumage 
of birds for ourselves,” said Inez. 

“Corn tassels and cotton blooms would suit men better,” 
added L'ucile. . ' * 

“Yes;” said Gerald, “wear the emblems for the ‘corners’ 
they get on those commodities.” 

“Have you got down to business transactions?” asked 
Dr. Winston, coming in, “there are no corners for women; 
they never decrease in value.” 

“Ralph, you are just in time to help me entertain this 
rebellious visitor; I have reached the bottom of. my program 
of interesting topics.” 

“Then, I shall be glad to take her off your hands.” 

“Do; she upsets every theory that I venture to advance.” 

“I will be revenged on you yet, sir,” and Inez shook her 
finger at him. 

After they left, Gerald said to Lucile, “I know you under- 
stood the game I played.” 

“I think I did. You have so much tact, and I think you 
succeeded admirably in carrying your point. Did she sus- 
pect your motive in detaining her until Dr. Winston came?” 

’“Perhaps not, but she was anxious. to get away.” 

“I could detect a degree of earnestness beneath your 
light conversation, and I knew you had some object in view. 

J saw an effort to detain her when she was restless.” 

“You certainly have much penetration; did you guess my 
reason, too?” 

“I have no right to express mere, suppositions.” 


CHAPTER XIV. 

A Glimpse of the Mystery. 

|p\NE bright morning Lucile felt an irresistible impulse 
'^to breathe the country air, fresh from its early sifting 
through the green foliage, divested of its dust-laden impu- 
rities, and cleansed from the breath and odor of animals, — ■ 
an invigorating tonic that she needed. 

Life seemed to be awakening for her; she felt no longing 
for the gayeties of social life as described in the modern 
sensational novel. She was accustomed to regard the Devil 
as master of ceremonies in the voluptuous german; and, 
though only an invisible presence, she felt no inclination to 
cultivate an acquaintance with his Satanic Majesty. The 
descriptions of such festivities seemed to her as weird and 
unreal as the tales of the Arabian Nights. 

Her path in life was tending upward, and she saw only 
dangerous delay in these pastimes; she thought a taste for 
them must be cultivated, rather than natural. She might 
blush for her crude ideas, so devoid of the polish acquired 
by long contact with modern high life. Others might smile 
at her ignorance; but if she was excluded from the dance 
in Belshazzar’s court, she would also escape the horror of 
the “handwriting on the wall.” 

The morning air had given her some Inspiration before 
she reached the Pauper Home. Her duties there had be- 
come a pleasure, because she was conscious that she was 
doing some good for others. 

As she opened the gate to return home, she saw Dr. 
Winston driving up the road. As soon as he reached her, 
he halted and got out of his phaeton. 


THE NOVICE. 


155 


“Miss Lucile, there is a mineral spring just two miles 
further on, which I think you would like to see. The flow- 
ing water, looping vines, and delicate ferns, all combine to 
form a lovely retreat. I am on my way to make a profes- 
sional visit a few yards beyond the place; will you not accept 
a seat in my phaeton? You can remain at the spring until 
I return.” 

“How long will you be gone?” 

“Only a few minutes, 1 think.” 

“I shall be delighted to see the spring; 1 have loved the 
wildwoods ever since 1 was a child, when I used to go pecan 
hunting on the borders of the prairies.” 

“Where was that?” 

She did not answer his question, but asked, “Do pecans 
grow in this state?” 

“They are not indigenous, but a few have been trans- 
planted of late years by those who have uncultivated groves.” 

After being seated, she said, “I would not have accepted 
an accidental invitation from anyone else, but you have been 
so kind and considerate I cannot resist the temptation.” 

“I think I proposed to take the place of a brother.” 

“I am ready to consider you as a brother, for I need your 
assistance; but I must ask you never to breathe a word con- 
cerning what I shall tell you.” 

“My lips will be sealed until the ceremony is performed.” 

“There would be nothing to tell then,” said she, laughing. 

“Tell me, who is the fortunate man?” 

“Jesting aside, it is a legal affair, not a matrimonial one.” 

“Well, in that case, Gerald would give the best advice.” 

“He? No one could be more cruel or suspicious. He 
pelted me with questions that I dared not answer; 1 would 
rather he had thrown stones at me.” 

“That was a strange mistake of Gerald’s.” 


156 


THE. NOVICE. 


“Why should he be so haughty? I belong to a family as 
noble as ;his.” 

“1 do not doubt it,” he said slowly, while he wondered 
why she did not tell Gerald who and what she was. 

“Well, in the first place, 1 am no criminal; nor am I 
connected with any crime.” 

“I have implicit confidence in what you tell me.” 

“When I went to the Bradford home, I had seen their 
advertisement in a daily paper. I was glad to reach a place 
where I could have sunlight and open air.” 

“Indeed!” said Dr. Winston with much surprise. 

“Now, don’t begin to waver with doubts.” 

“1 think you must have been the victim of enemies.” 

“1 will clear up the mystery or-die trying.” 

“What a pity you can’t trust Gerald!” 

“1 would rather die unknown than be dependent on him !” 

“Then how can I serve you? Any spots of blood to be 
, examined with a microscope?” 

She seemed to take no notice of his question. 

“There were three mysterious deaths over four years ago.” 

“Too long; the corpuscles have lost their natural size.” 

Dr. Winston regretted her confidence; he was weighing 
the possibility of a lawsuit in court. He knew that even the 
slightest suspicion of a crime would ruin -the reputation of 
this young girl. . ' ■“ 

She wished for a lawyer; was she afraid of Gerald’s pene- 
tration, because he had already found’ cause for suspicion 
against her? She wished to employ an elderly, kind-hearted 
lawyer, who would not tantalize -her by .evil surmisings. She 
had said to him, ‘T cannot employ a lawyer here, since the 
visits to a lawyer’s office would lead to inquiries that could 
not be answered; and mnjust comments would crush down 
my energy before the desired end could 'be accomplished.” 


THE NOVICE. 


157 


Dr. Winston was glad that Lucile did not enter into the 
particulars of her case. He wished that he could dissuade 
her from any proceedings in court. If women have troubles, 
it is far better to bear them secretly than publish them to 
the world by a lawsuit in court.: it detracts from a woman’s 
reputation, no matter how innocent she may be. 

“Then, do you wish m.e to recommend a lawyer living in 
some other place?” 

“Yes; I wish the address of some energetic old lawyer.” 

“Let me see: the best criminal lawyer — 

She frowned; he did not see her, but continued, “ I tell you, 
Gsrald is the best criminal lawyer in the state; and if the 
defendant should employ him, it would ruin your cause.” 
His fist came down for emphasis. 

“You think he might hang me, don’t you?” She laughed 
while thinking how far one could carry mere suppositions. 
Dr. Winston was shocked; he thought she seemed reckless; 
he could see nothing in the possibility of her being hanged 
that should cause a laugh. 

She could read the disgust that he seemed to feel, and 
she was desirous of redeeming her false position. 

“Your imagination is condemning me, even before any 
evidence is given to the jurors.” 

“But — circumstantial evidence often corroborates the 
testimony of others when we least expect such a thing.” 

“Well, you seem to be wavering in your confidence; but 
you may be sure of one thing” — she closed her lips closely, 
while her brow gathered into a frown; she was losing her 
patience — “yes, you may be sure of one thing: I will check- 
mate Mr. Bradford in all his attempts to incriminate me.” 
She smiled proudly and confidently. 

“Does this hope rest upon the expectation of disarming 
him by your charms?” 


158 


THE NOVICE. 


“Dr. Winston, do you think that I lack common sense?” 

“I think he would find it difficult to resist such a battery.” 

“He is not so susceptible as you imagine; you may rest 
easy about that, as well as the possibility of his hanging me.” 

“Gerald is a grand fellow; I wish you knew him better.” 

“1 know that he is a tower of strength, built of cold, hard 
slom, upon which no feminine tendrils will ever cling.” 

“Love with such a character would be no trivial affair; 
no one could he more devoted or more constant.” 

“Well, I will never have any claims upon his affection, 
and we will leave him out of my business affairs; I prefer 
an old experienced lawyer.” 

“Has that want anything to do with matrimony?” 

“Dr. Winston! 1 dare not enter that state with motives 
prompted by convenience or avarice. Marriage is an insti- 
tution as holy as the church.” 

“Love, too, is a sacred spark from the Divine Author, 
which beautifies and exalts that hallowed union.” 

“Well, let that pass, too; 1 am not in the matrimonial 
bazaar yet. I may never be; but I must have my ancient 
lawyer, nevertheless.” 

“Vi et armis?” 

“Yes, if there is no other way.” 

“There is in Atlanta an old, old — ” 

“Criminal lawyer; I’ll help you to think,” said she sharply. 

“A sympathetic lawyer, who might be tempted to wink 
at justice to save a human life.” 

“I don’t want him. I wouldn’t have an old-womanish 
lawyer, ha would fail; suggest another.” 

“There is another lawyer in Atlanta, who would force 
success out of improbabilities.” 

“Ah! he is the man; did you say Atlanta?” 

“Yes; he lives in Atlanta.” 


THE NOVICE. 


159 


'“I am invited to join a party that will go up to the Expo- 
sition next week; I might find this lawyer’s office by the aid 
of a cabman or a policeman.” 

“As I have no engagement, permit me to be your escort.” 

“Can’t you make an engagement with Miss Willett, and 
let me play second fiddler on the trip? You know I shall 
be out of the way while in the city.” 

“As Gerald insisted on your going, he may expect to be 
your escort.” 

“I want no obligatory attendance; he must know that I 
expect no favors because I live in his house.” 

“We must settle upon our program to-day, — the proba- 
bilities, the possibilities, and the excuses for your absence, 
if mentioned.” 

“After you leave me with this lawyer, your obligation to 
me ceases. You will not be expected to know what par- 
ticular business detains me in the city; there are so many 
things to interest a woman.” 

“Have you no purchases to make?” 

“Yes; I can buy a bonnet, and stay to direct the trimming.” 

“We must be ready for the seven o’clock train.” 

“Already I feel my burden of care sliding— sliding— ” 

“Here we are at the spring.” 

The face of Mrs. Bradford was flushed, her brow puckered 
above the delicate nose, her neck drawn out to an unusual 
extent; soon the ebullition within found expression in words. 

“Gerald, you must consider what other people would have 
to say. For instance, ‘Honorable Gerald Bradford is here, 
escorting his sister’s nurse !’ ” 

“She is no nurse, Mary; she left that title with her cap.” 

“Think of the comments of the newspaper reporters,” 


160 


THE NOVICE. 


“ A plowboy bscame a president; a cobbler, a poet laureate. 
She is highly educated, and she may — ” 

“There are no prospects of her being either.” 

“1 have seen many evidences of her former training.” 

“Training for the circus?” 

“Pshaw! Ralph thinks that she is a remarkable woman,” 
said Gerald. 

“Well, then, let him think what he pleases. They say 
that Inez has jilted him on account of this girl.” 

“Who are they? They are the ill-natured gossips.” 

“Gerald,” said she coaxingly, “do let Dr. Winston go 
with her this first time; as a physician, he is a privileged 
character.” 

“So am I, by my own right.” 

“You claim privileges under the plea of eccentricity.” 

“I have decided to take her, and cheat the gossips out of 
one victim.” 

“Dear me! how heroic! Do tell me, who were those 
valiant soldiers that fought the air for breathing in their 
faces?” she said scornfully. 

“As an inmate of our home, she is under our protection.” 

“What a transition from cruel skeptic to chivalrous knight; 
some witch must have conjured you.” 

“She is so bewitching that some women envy her.” 

“Too provoking! I do wish it would rain or storm or — 
anything to break up this trip.” 

“ Lucile can appreciate the grand display at the Exposition; 
other women go there to see the crowd, and be seen by it.” 

“Inez may not have jilted Dr. Winston, but this I know: 
she is not going with him to the Exposition.” 

“Why not?” 

“Ah! Have you not heard?” 

He had heard some idle talk, but he wanted to hear all. 


THE NOVICE. 


161 


“When Lucile went to the Pauper Home, Dr. Winston 
met her on the road, and took her to the mineral spring.” 

“How did jow hear this? Did Lucile tell you?” 

“No, indeed; she does not presume to tell me of her 
escapades.” 

“It may have been some one else that was at the spring.” 

“No; it was Lucila. One of the women who lives near the 
Pauper Home, saw a light-haired lady come out of the gate 
and get into Dr. Winston’s phaeton; and she heard one of 
her neighbors say the lady stopped at the spring while the 
Doctor went on to the house.” 

“Was the woman that sold you eggs vending gossip, too?” 

“What if she did? Ignorant people generally tell all that 
they know.” 

“Suppose she did ride to the spring: others go there.” 

“Why didn’t they start from home together, instead of 
planning a meeting elsewhere? I’d like to know.” 

“It must have been an accidental meeting.” 

“I don’t believe it. Ralph Winston is such a creduluous 
goose any designing woman could manage him.” 

“Credulous people have no guile in themselves, and look 
for none in others.” 

WillAfr5. Bradford be expected to chaperon this paragon 
if her brother attends her?” 

“Certainly not; she will need no chaperon while there.” 

“Thank you; that is a relief.” 

“Since the contemptible gossips” — he looked sternly at 
her — “have tried to injure her without the shadow of a 
reason, I shall introduce her to my friends in Atlanta, and 
see that she is not snubbed by any one.” 

“Men have more charity than women.” 

“Yes; towards their own sex, women are often merciless 
traducers.” 


CHAPTER XV. 
The Crime of a Hint. 


Q ERALD BRADFORD was handling his mail carelessly, 
as though indifferent to their contents and their writers. 
He shuffled them aside as the door bell rang, and a familiar 
visitor followed the servant to the library door. 

“How are you, Ralph? You look as if some of your 
patients had la grippe." 

“La me 1 La grippe is a mere trifle to the cares that 
annoy me. I can reiterate the wish of Caligula.” 

“What in the world have these quiet citizens done that 
you should wish to decapitate them?” 

“These gossiping, vilifying women need to be choked!” 
“Better clip their tongues than choke them, or cut off 
their heads, as Caligula desired to do with that plural neck 
of ancient Rome.” 

“I tell you, I believe the Bible alludes to women, where 
it reads, ‘The tongue can no man tame; it is set on fire 
of hell.’” 

“Hi ! You must have been near that hot region yourself.” 
“I am in a box equal to it.” 

“Cool off, and tell me the particulars.” 

“Have you not heard of that trip to the mineral spring?” 
“You have a patient near there, what about her?” 

Ralph related the circumstances of his taking Lucile 
there. This explanation was a relief to Gerald; he was glad 
to hear the truth from Ralph, without questioning Lucile. 
When others were cruelly unjust to this friendless girl, his 
duty was to defend her. 

“I have promised to take the adjunct to the Exposition.” 


THS NOVICE. 


163 


“Promised ? Surely, she did not ask you to do so.” 

“No; she wants to go to Atlanta — on business, 1 think.” 

Gerald was puzzled at his confusion; there was no harm 
that he could think of in her going up there on business. 

“What business? Perhaps I can attend to it for her.” 

“No; don’t mention it to her. She said something about 
bonnets — or trimmings — at least, 1 was not to tell.” 

“If she needs money, I can supply her.” 

“No; it was not that — er — I think it was not.” 

Ralph had no secrets, and he was too candid to keep those 
of others; any deception seemed to him a palpable lie. He 
thought he would not betray any one’s confidence, but he 
cculd not frame excuses that seemed to be false. 

“Surely,” thought Gerald, “this confusion does not arise 
from a new love-scrape; he was never so embarrassed before, 
even when speaking of his engagement to Inez.” 

“Ralph, what in the world is the matter with you? Don’t 
take Lucile if you think the gossips will criticise you.” 

“When I proposed to take her also, Inez flew the track.” 

“Ah ! Then I will offer my services to Inez, and talk her 
into a good humor before we reach Atlanta.” 

“Good ! Anyway you please, except to make love to her.” 

“Certainly not; but I am expected to compose a lot of 
fables to account for your conduct.” 

“You are better in managing scrapes than I am.” 

“You mean that I can dissemble with a better face.” 

“Better you mean. I shall be under obligations.” 

“I am determined that Lucile shall have an escort, after 
those cruel innuendoes; and she will prefer you to myself.” 

“My dear friend, that is just like you: when others have 
thrusts for the unfortunate, then you become their champion. 
You ought to have lived in the age of chivalry.” 

“Not I; I don’t purpose to kill anybody to please a woman.” 


164 


THE NOVICE. 


“Well, jesting aside, I think the girl worthy of a higher 
place in society than is usually accorded to those who are 
mere breadwinners.” 

“Those who earn their own bread should be esteemed 
more highly than those that live upon the charity of others: 
they are beggars.” i 

“1 tell you what, Gerald, you draw your lines close. You 
shut out lots of very genteel beggars.” 

“The law should compel all men to work.” 

“1 am glad you are not the taskmaster.” 

“Lucile needs only the sympathy and influence of some 
prominent member of society. She has tact enough to 
make her way, though she does not profess to have had 
much experience.” 

“She may not be versed in modern slang, and she may 
resent the armclutch; but her dignity and intelligence will 
rank her far above gossips.” 

“I shall introduce her to friends who are too polite to snub 
her or criticise her mistakes.” 

“No; it will be better to wait.” 

“Wait? Wait for what?” 

“I haven’t turned against her, but I must say beware !’' 

“Wicked tongues have misled your judgment.” 

“1 have other suspicions, but I am not at liberty to men- 
tion them. Wait; time will expose all closeted skeletons.” 

“Did she confide in you?” 

“Yes; but don’t question me; I am under promise.” 

“And this is the way he keeps a secret,” thought Gerald. 

“Ralph say no more, for the sake of your promise.” 

“I do not intend to betray her; is your interest at stake?” 

“Pshaw! of course not; but she is friendless, and no 
matter what cloud overhangs her sky, I will defend her.” 

“Is this the same Gerald that was seeking a criminal?” 


THE NOVICE. 


. 165 


“Mention that no more: how cruel is suspicion!” 

“She may be concealing crime under the mantle of piety.” 

“I tell you. that is impossible.” 

“Now, I would sacrifice anything but my word of honor to 
tell you all that 1 know.” 

“I have a case of poisoning, where the wornan disap- 
peared mysteriously.” 

“My!” exclaimed Ralph, “it may be Lucile!” 

Gerald could not repress a smile at the unraveling of a 
secret that Ralph was determined to keep if he could. 

“Ralph, did Lucile betray the part she had in this affair?” 

“She was too shrewd for that. She wanted a lawyer; 
her allusions to certain facts were suspicious.” 

“Ah ! only suspicious.” 

“Did you say that you would take Inez off my hands?” 

“Off your hands? I thought she refused to go with you.” 

“Yes; I will take Lucile,” said he in an absent manner. 

. “Ralph, there is some serious complication. You say in 
tragic. tones, ‘ Beware!' Now, tell me plainly, am I to infer 
that I must beware of and your interest?” 

“No interest, only an obligation that I cannot explain.” 

‘iWill that obligation cause enmity between you and Inez?” 

“Inez refused 'to have Lucile as a companion for the day. 

She was charnied with her before that unfortunate ride.” 

. ..'-“’There was no harm in her going; other girls go.” 

. '“Hints are worse than open abuse, because they are not 
supposed to result from personahenmity. A stranger, reti- 
cent concerning her own affairs, "is an open target for the 
malicious news.rri:pnger.”- • • ' . 

“CancelyoMY, obligation.” 

“Impossible-undehthe circumstances.” 


166 


THE NOVICE. 


At dawn qf day, filmy clouds, which had been motionless 
about the eastern horizon, began to move slowly westward, 
as if the rising sun refused to be hidden by them on a day 
already bright with anticipation. While waiting for the train, 
Gerald sat v/ith Inez in the ladies’ saloon, when she said, 
"Mr. Bradford, whose picture was it Dr. Winston expressed 
to the Exposition?” 

"Picture? I don’t know; perhaps it belonged to some 
friend of his in the country.” 

"The express agent asked my brother if it was mine.” 

"Probably the work of some schoolgirl, who is foolish 
enough to compete with artists whose pictures are famous.” 

"Such girls estimate their work by the praise of friends.” 

"They may be doomed to hear criticisms that will nip 
their ambition in the bud.” 

"When in my teens, a schoolgirl held a bit of pasteboard 
before me, and said with an air of pride, ‘I did that all by 
myself.’ There was a white and gray ball on a stick full of 
leaves; under it was written ‘The Bride.’ I asked inno- 
cently why she called a hornet’s nest a bride? She was 
insulted; she said that I was too green to understand works 
of art, as I could not tell a white rose when I saw one. I 
begged her pardon and beat a retreat.” 

"Was that your first love-scrape?” 

"As I did not number them, I can’t say which it was.” 

"Did that mistake make you a critic of fine paintings?” 

"Perhaps it did; for I took Ruskin for my text-book 
when I visited art galleries.” 

"I do wish I knew about that picture!” 

"Let me give you some advice.” 

"What a venerable mentor you are, to be sure!” 

"Don’t you ask Ralph about that picture.” 

"Why not?” she said quickly. 


THB NOVICE. 


167 .. 


"Such a question would imply a doubt of his fidelity.” 

“He should confide in me.” 

“Suppose he was requested not to mention it. Those who 
fail to get prizes prefer to be unknown.” 

“1 suppose it is all right, but I do wish I knew.” 

“I am almost jealous of Ralph’s devotion to you.” 

“Damon and Pythias, I ought to be jealous of you two.” 

“Ralph’s request was to play the agreeable to you, but—” 

“But what? Tell me.” 

“Not to make love to you.” 

“That very request implies a doubt on his part.” 

“No: he had confidence in my power to fascinate.” 

“That, indeed!” 

“What will become of me when you two are married?” 

“Use your fascinating power and do likewise.” 

“I would, but there is but one Inez.” 

“There is a Mallie and a Lily.” 

“I can’t take both, and how can I decide?” 

Their small talk was interrupted by the crowd flowing in 
f rom all quarters. 

Very soon the approaching train was announced by the 
regular rumbling of moving wheels; next an ascending spiral 
from the engine smokestack; then rings of smoke, cut off 
and floating in a higher stratum of air, as we frequently see 
during sudden changes of temperature. 

Gerald’s artistic eye watched this natural picture with 
more appreciation than he did that unnatural “bridal rose” 
some years ago. The shrieking whistle put new life into the 
lazy loungers that had settled about the depot; even their 
pocketed hands slid forth, and their slouch hats moved back 
one degree from faces as devoid of activity and purpose as 
if life were a punishment, instead of a pleasure. 

“The vagrant law is needed here.” said Gerald. 


168 


THE NOVICE. 


“If it were enforced, what should be the punishment?” 

“Lock them up.” 

“What good would that do? They would have nothing 
to do there, and the county would be taxed to feed them.” 

“Poor men ! They may not be able to get work, and idle 
brains conjure up more evil than good.” 

A new idea came to Gerald, while he was silently musing. 
He would build a workhouse for this class, have an ordinance 
passed to compel them to work, and then he would pay them 
reasonable wages. 

He was busy planning this imaginary house, even fur- 
nishing it with tools; he could foresee the tenants bending 
to their forced duties. 'He smiled at the probable results, 
entirely oblivious of the present, until Inez''said, “Good-by, 
Mr. Bradford! Too deep in a lawsuit to hear the whistle.” 

He roused up, and saw Inez in the door waiting for him. 

“Pardon my negligence, you deserve a better escort.” 

“Pardon you? Of course; one dare not incur the enmity 
of a lawyer. He may be Governor or President some day, 
and then we can press our claims to his friendship.” 

“Pin your hopes for social elevation to a more certain 
balloon.” 

“Balloon? You may lack gas; you surely have ballast.” 

“A secondary consideration.” 

“Have you no ambition?” 

“Yes, but not to be a gassy office-seeker.” 

“Some must legislate.” " ^ 

“The office should seek them; not they, the office.” 

“The train seems crowded.” She looked back wistfully. 

He guessed her thoughts and said, “They haven't come.” 

“Yes; they came aboard the train.” 

Gerald was annoyed. He was anxious to heal any pos- 
sible breach between Ralph and Inez. ••• ' 


THE NOVICE. 


169 


Dr. Winston and Lucile were anxious to avoid unanswer- 
able questions when they should leave the Atlanta depot to 
visit the lawyer, who was probably waiting for her. 

When Dr. Winston had introduced Lucile to Col. Lewis, 
he turned to leave, saying, “At twelve o’clock?” She bowed 
to him in reply, and he was gone. 

“My young friend,” said the lawyer, “it must have been 
your letter that came last week, requesting this interview.” 

“Yes,” she said slowly. She glanced around the room, 
then asked, “Is anyone but you within hearing distance?” 

“No one; law business is always private.” 

“Then, I can tell you my peculiar case; and I hope you 
will have patience to listen to all the details.” 

“Curtail nothing; the confidence of young people forms a 
pleasing episode in an old man’s life.” 

“Then you must not intimidate me with questions.” 

“One question in advance: Is this a suit for breach of 
promise?” 

“No; it may be a breach of trust.” 

“Ah, well ! No girl ever had a history to relate that had 
not some serious disappointment in it.” 

“Six years ago — ” 

“Six years ago? You were only a child then; children are 
ruled out of court.” 

“I am of age now, and the suit not yet begun.” 

“True; how old is the defendant?” 

“No youth, I assure you.” 

When Lucile had confided her business to this kind, sym- 
pathetic lawyer, she seemed to have put down a prodigious 
burden, — a burden that had nearly crushed out her very life. 
She rose with a sigh of relief, saying, “So you really think 
there is a possibility in this case?” 

“Even more, a probability.” 


170 


THE NOVICE. 


“I thank God for hope, I thank you for your sympathy/' 

“It may take time; but, my child, you need have no fears 
for your safety.” 

“Oh, I breathe the free air again! And you will not” — 
her voice sank to a whisper — “betray me to those who might 
seek to incarcerate me again?” 

“Certainly not; you may trust me.” 

“Now, you have all the facts, all the places, all the dates. 
Should you wish to communicate with me—” 

“I have your last place of residence, too.” 

“Yes; but be certain to direct your letters, as before, to 
Dr. Winston.” 

“And not to—” 

“To no one else, please; not even to myself.” 

He noted this down in a very precise manner. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

A Touch of Chivalry. 


^ ERALD and Inez wandered about through the Exposition 
N buildings, finding nothing that especially interested them. 
Evidently, they were disappointed in their expectations; they 
preferred to scan the faces about them. 

“Is this Exposition a failure?” asked Inez. 

“Perhaps, we are the failure in our lack of appreciation,” 
said Gerald. 

“You mean that we are in no mood to enjoy this.” 

“Yes; let’s explore that restaurant, and we may be able 
to appreciate its eatables.” 

“At least, it may be a diversion.” 

As they drew near the door, a messenger handed Gerald 
a note, which ran thus: — 

Gerald, — Examine picture No. 409, in the Art Gallery. Buy it at 
any price. “Let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth.’’ 

M. L. 

That quotation was an allusion to almsgiving; he wondered 
who could be the recipient of his uncle’s bounty. 

They were about to enter the restaurant, when Inez said, 
“Here they are now.” Turning around, he saw Ralph and 
Lucile coming toward them. Gerald noticed a strange trans- 
formation in the pensive features of Lucile. He wondered 
what new scene had awakened such pleasurable emotions 
in her. Was it Ralph or the Exposition? Love irradiates 
the face. Gerald frowned as he stood making diagrams in 
the sand with his walking cane. 

“You see hunger brings us together again,” said Ralph. 

“What part of the Exposition have you seen?” asked Inez. 


172 


THE NOVICE. 


Lucile was busy examining the parti-colored Coleus near 
the walk. Ralph had answered the question of Inez, and 
they seemed to be on good terms again. 

As Gerald came up, Inez asked Ralph, “Where was that?” 

“In the Medical Department,” he replied. 

“Has Miss Burch the nerve to look at portions of the 
human body preserved in alcohol?” 

“Oh, yes; she has even helped to dress frightful wounds.” 

“Ah! she is quite a heroine. You had for discussion a 
subject congenial to you both; no wonder you stayed so long.” 

Gerald noticed a tinge of irritation in the tones of Inez, 
and he hastened to say, “Well, let’s go in here and discuss 
the bill of fare.” 

“Who could eat after speaking of alcoholic specimens?” 

“Do you think the spiritual body resembles the physical?” 
said Lucile, coming up. 

“When the material elements return to earth, spirits that 
were congenial in this life will soon recognize each other, 
whether they are like the old body or not,” said Dr. Winston. 

“I am needing some of those elements now;” said Gerald, 
“come, Lucile, let’s go, and leave Ralph and Inez to search 
for some medium that can tell them what spirits are like.” 

After they had moved off from the others, Gerald said, 
“Lucile, I have just received a note requesting me to attend 
to some business.” 

“Then, don’t let me detain you for a moment.” 

“I thought you would prefer to leave those two just now,” 
said he, smiling. 

“Yes, I should find myself rather detrop.” 

“After lunch I will take you to the Fine Art Building.” 

“I prefer that above all things.” 

“I may find some nook, where you can remain, without 
being jostled by the crowd, until ! can return.” 


THE HOVICE. 


‘^Can return” she repeated mentally, as if weighing the 
word can. Then she started, as if afraid he had conjectured 
.^er thought, and said, ‘Tf you should find more pleasure in 
■some other building, don’t think of me; looking at those 
pictures, I could spend the whole afternoon delightfully.” 

“Does that mean you prefer that I should be away?” 

“No; I like to be under your protection, but I dislike to 
anar your pleasure.” 

“Lucile, depend on me as if I were a brother,” 

“Thank you, but 1 am—” 

She saw that he had gone, and could not hear her, LucilS 
wondered at his unusual manner, and she was puzzled to 
know why he was solicitous about her. Did he fear that she 
would commit some unpardonable blunder? She knew that 
-nothing in herself had awakened any sympathy or interest. 

Gerald had introduced her to one of those in charge of 
the Art Gallery, and now she was allowed to examine every 
picture without being disturbed. 

When Gerald left Lucile, he took out his notebook, and 
read, “No, 409,” He began to read the numbers on the 
pictures, and finally he came to 400. Just before him stood 
two men much interested in a crayon sketch. He followed 
his numbers: 401, 402, 403, 405, 406, 407,— 

He was interrupted by the exclamation of one of the two 
men who were looking at No, 409, 

“By George ! here’s that plantation on Sookeetonchee !” 

“Yes; the very pecan trees. Ha ! here’s Sugarfoot, too.” 

“Who on earth crayoned this picture?” 

“Is there no name?” 

“Here is R. W.; I suppose they are the initials of some 
traveling artist that visited the place.” 

“Where is the heir to that plantation?” 

“If she is not dead, you are the last one to hunt her up.” 


174 


THE NOVICE. 


“Why not? I would divide with her.” 

“Divide the deuce ! You lose all if she comes bobbing up.” 

“True; if there is no will, she is sole heir.” 

“You might marry the heiress, you know,” said he, smiling. 

“Money would not tempt me to marry such a woman.” 

“1 know she is as crafty as the Devil.” 

“There was some mystery about the whole affair.” 
f “She was the wife or the accomplice of that villainous 
( priest who was excommunicated from the Catholic church.” 
^ In his eagerness to hear more, Gerald pressed too near 
these young men. They saw him watching them, exchanged 
quizzical glances, and passed on out of his hearing. 

“I wonder how much of our conversation he heard,” said 
one of the men. 

“He may be the artist that crayoned the picture, and 
listened to hear our criticisms.” 

“Possibly, he did not consider it eavesdropping to listen 
in so public a place.” 

When Gerald proposed to buy the picture, he was informed 
that his was the second application; but, since Gerald had 
made a better offer, it would be shipped to his address. He 
was anxious to know what interest his uncle had in it. 

When they returned to the city, their train was preparing 
to leave. After Lucile was seated in the car, Gerald hurried 
out to telephone his uncle. Some one replied that Col. 
Lewis had left the city, to be absent two weeks. 

When Gerald returned to the train, he found Lucile 
absorbed in the pages of “White Wings.” She looked up 
carelessly, and then continued to read, as if she thought he 
would not expect to be entertained. He glanced at the title 
of the book, and smiled as he said, “How do you like your 
‘White Wings’?” 

“Very much; but I would prefer real wings.” 


THE NOVICE. 


175 


“Why wish to be more like a bird?” 

She appreciated the compliment, but gave him no reply. 
“Tell me why you desire wings,” said Gerald. 

“When annoyances come, I could spread my wings and 
float away.” 

“And leave me to gaze and grieve.” 

“You have more interesting friends left.” 

“How do you know?” said he, looking at her earnestly. 
“Your clients leave you no time to v/aste over trifles.” 
“Close the book now; the motion of the train may injure 
your eyes.” 

“I like advice.” 

“Do you hate curiosity?” 

She looked grave, but made no reply. 

“I saw two young men — ” 

She turned so quickly that he left the sentence unfinished. 
“You saw two young men?” she repeated after him. 
“You knew them, then.” 

“I merely repeated your words,” she said, blushing. 

“Did you not see two strangers?” 

“What a question ! I saw a thousand.” 

“Did you not see some strangers that you knew?” 

“I am not certain that I saw any strangers I knew.” 

“You parry questions; I’ll not vex you, lest your wings 
unfurl, and you leave me alone.” 

“I promise to remain if you will tell me about those two 
young men.” 

“They were examining the crayon pictures.” 

He was watching her flushed face and eager looks. 
“What did they say?” 

“Look there!” said he, pointing out of the windov/, “so 
many birds. A flight of birds was an important event among 
the arxients.” 


f76 


THE NOVICE. 


“You must like wings, too; you drop so easily the inter- 
esting subject of two young men for a flock of pigeons.” 

“1 changed tc winged animals to please you.” 

“Can’t you remember anything those young men said?’' 

“Once I heard you utter two words which they repeated.”' 

“What were the words?” 

He took her hand, looked at her closely, and repeated 
sfowly ^‘Sookaeionchee and Sugar-foot J* 

She was much surprised, and more amused; her merry 
peals of laughter caused many in the car to turn and look 
at her. 

As soon as she could control her risibles, she said, “I 
thought 1 knew them; let’s go back; 1 must see them.” 

“They left on a west-bound train just as we rolled into 
Atlanta. Can’t you write to them?” 

“No, no; I dare not.” 

“You have not explained those foreign words.” 

“Well, Sookeetonchee is the name of a creek and its 
border of hammock land in Chickasaw County, Mississippi J}' 

“But the other? You have not told me that.” 

She smiled at his eager manner of questioning. 

“Sugar-foot? That was the name of my Indian pony. 
He was so small I could spring to his back from the ground.” 

“That place was-—” He hesitated. 

“My father’s plantation, where we spent the summers.” 

She sighed deeply. 

Gerald lowered his head; he was silently pondering over 
this information. 

“Tell me what they said?” Her face was full of pleading. 

“I heard some disagreeable things, which I would prefer 
not to repeat.” 

“Am I in any immediate danger?” she whispered, with 
childish dread depicted on her face. 


THE NOVICE. 


177 


“They are gone. You need not be afraid of them now.” 

A moment later she asked, “You will tell me what they 
said, will you not?” 

There was so much earnest pleading in the troubled face 
turned to him, that his stern resolve v/as wavering; but he 
preferred to wait until she was at home. 

“Would it be honorable for me to repeat a private con- 
versation that I overheard?” 

“You said it concerned me, and you are my friend.” 

“Friends, certainly; I promised to be a brother.” 

He understood her childlike friendship. As they left the 
cars, he unstrapped her shawl, and threw it over her shoulders. 

“That is, indeed, like a brother; I’ll tell you a great deal 
if you will not question me.” 

“No questions? I understand: I am to listen only.” 

“You think me silly; let’s hurry home.” 

“No; before we leave the depot I want to give you my 
written promise that I will ask no more questions.” 

“And for this, I am to write my full history, — actors, 
stages, murders, crimes, and prisons.” 

She laughed, but he could not tell why. 

“No, none of those things; but your sweethearts, engage- 
ments, and broken promises.” 

“No, no; I won’t write down all that.” 


CHAPTER XVIL 
The Shadow of a Crime, 


Q ERALD, my brother, what a wonderful man you are!” 

“So you have told me before; I might have believed it 
myself, if it were not for those repetitions.” 

“Other people are beginning to think so, too.” 

“Mary, you are plotting a scheme; is it to marry me off?” 
“Suspicious you are indeed ! Why so?” 

“When a man wants to get rid of a bad horse, he expa- 
tiates on his virtues, but he is silent as to his vices.” 

“Well, ril not trade you off yet; but 1 must tell you the 
latest gossip.” 

“Pray don’t; if it’s about me, postpone the recital.” 
“Well, you are indirectly concerned.” 

“Consider what you repeat; it might lead to a duel.” 

“No other man concerned.” 

“Ah, well, that is worse still. I cannot fight women; they 
are too expert with the broom.” 

“Lucile is invited to Mrs, Randall’s reception.” 

“I hope she will accept the invitation.” 

“Everybody says you brought her out into society.” 

“The invitation to the entertainment given by the Read- 
ing Club, read, ‘Bring any lady that you wish;’ and I took 
Lucile.” 

“When there, she was introduced to your friends; and the 
young men went wild over her wit and beauty.” 

“What about her mistake as a novitiate there?” 

“Lily Denton says she receives the attentions of gentle- 
men with as much composure as if she had been born a 
queen, and did not care whether they spoke to her or not.” 


THE NOVICE. 


179 


“If she did care, she would not betray any disappointment.” 

“Several young men have called.” 

“It will not be necessary for me to ask v/ho have called; 
she will be able to discern the high-minded, Christian gen- 
tleman, and she will understand how to avoid the impudent 
spouter of slang.” 

“Now, that she is a success, I do not regret her going 
into society. She will be of great service to me; she will 
understand how to arrange my dresses in the latest style.” 

“I am glad because her life will be less lonely.” 

“A less selfish expression than mine.” 

“Who has proposed to be her escort?” 

“Dr. Winston.” 

“Will you require her to wear that cap?” 

“Why, Gerald! You know I will not; she occupies a dif- 
ferent position now. A menial’s badge would close their 
doors in her face.” 

“Umph ! Intelligence ought to mark one’s rank.” 

“A thing of the past; let it go. Do you know people are 
commenting on the kind, brotherly manner that you assume 
towards her?” 

“Do they expect more from me?” 

“Of course not; if you displayed any regard for her, they 
would infer that you were decidedly crazy. I know you will 
bestow no sentimental flattery upon her, as you do upon 
Mallie Raymond and Lily Denton.” 

“They solicit such attentions, v/hile she rejects them. 
There is no danger of spoiling her.” 

“Mallie says she learned her skill in repartee from you.” 

“I have not drilled her.” 

“Where was she educated?” 

“Among educated people; she was a hard student at — 

“At school; but schoolbooks do not make one fluent.” 


180 


THE NOVICE. 


“They are only leaders to a higher plane of thought. 
Histories, scientific works, and reviews furnish topics for 
discussion.” 

“You have out left novels, and novel-readers are more 
fluent in conversation than other people.” 

“Fluent in gossip; that kind of reading does not expand 
the mind like scientific works, nor does it cultivate the 
reasoning powers like essays on abstract subjects.” 

“We learn human nature from the characters in novels.” 

“But few of their men and women are ever seen in real 
life; many are viler than the vilest ever seen or known,” 

“Do you condemn the poets, too?” 

“Poems cultivate our esthetic inclinations; but, like rich 
desserts, they are not fit for constant, everyday use.” 

One morning there was a knock at Lucile’s door. Jim 
walked in quietly, and with a low bow presented Lucile with 
a dainty note on a salver, as he was accustomed to do when 
he presented such things to Mrs. Bradford. He grinned, 
as if he thought she would appreciate the honor. 

“Miss Lucile, I thought you was much of a lady as her, 
so I brung your note like she ’quires me to bring hern.” 

“Many thanks for the note, Jim, and your manner of pre- 
senting it.” 

Jim eyed the note curiously while he stood waiting; then 
his thoughts found expression in an undertone, “I bet it’s 
frum a young gent’man.” 

“Why do you think so?” said Lucile, smiling. 

“Gaze — I mean because — it looks pint- blank like the notes 
what Mr. Gerald sends to ladies.” 

“You must never tell me what kind of notes you carry 
for Mr. Bradford, nor to what place you carry them.” 


THE NOVICE, 


181 


A few moments later Lucile entered the library, Gerald 
arose and offered her a chair, which she acknowledged by a 
slight bow. She remained standing while he read her note. 

“Well, you will go?” 

“Is it imperative?” 

“I think so; and if no better escort offers, consider me 
your dernier resort.” She hesitated; he looked up for a reply. 

“I thank you for your kindness, but I cannot recognize 
any obligation to accompany me; even brothers must not 
sacrifice their personal interest,” 

“Sisters are free from obligations to brothers when an- 
other proposes to attend them.” Both laughed. He added, 
“Now, I am to understand that — ” 

“I thank you,” she said in an absent manner. 

Gerald seemed perfectly indifferent whether she thanked 
him for his own offer, or for the permission to accept that 
of another escort. 

As she remained standing, he asked her to be seated. 

“Pardon me if I use my fraternal privilege to inquire 
whether I can add any needed funds for your preparation.” 

“Thank you. If I needed any, I would tell you; but my 
taste and my purse always agree.” 

He smiled, for he knew pride made her so independent. 

“If you are not very busy now — ” 

“Not busy.” He threw aside his paper, and she took the 
proffered seat. 

“I would like to show you the picture that I copied some 
time since. Did you see it again?” 

“I saw the copy.” 

He thought she wanted to bring up the subject of those 
two young men. He had risen; while talking, he took down 
the Album and handed it to her. Her face beamed with 
pleasure as soon as she turned to the picture. 


182 


THE NOVICE. 


“Here is the house, broad and low; no higher houses can 
resist the severe winds that sweep up that stretch of open 
prairie: one hundred miles of resistless space accelerates 
their speed.” 

“Is the house built of stone or brick?” 

“Neither; there is no stone for hundreds of miles, and the 
soil is too friable to make bricks. The houses are built of 
hewn logs, weatherboarded without and ceiled within.” 

“Of triple strength. You spoke of a hammock.” 

“That lies behind the house; it is a swamp full of thorns 
and reedy fens, where bears and panthers are found.” 

“Bears and panthers? Mercy! what neighbors!” 

“They rarely venture near the plantations; they infest the 
densest part of the hammocks.” 

“How could their clumsy bodies ever pass through the 
canebrakes and brambles?” 

“The bears walk on top of the bent canes, and the panthers 
spring from the tops of the trees.” 

“And that hammock is Sookeetonchee?” 

“Yes; the name is Choctaw: that tribe lived across the 
creek that bears the same name.” 

“This is Sugar-foot; is that name Choctaw, too?” 

“Maybe so; it has no significance in English,” said she. 

“Those tall, narrow-leaved trees are peculiar.” 

“They are pecan trees.” 

“Umph! what a mistake!” said Gerald half aloud. 

She smiled, for she was thinking of the pecan hedge that 
Mrs. Bradford had planted in the yard. 

“If you had been standing by the pony when the photo- 
graph was taken, the picture would be perfect.” 

“This was taken long after I had left there.” 

“Those young men — ” 

He glanced at her eager face. 


THE NOVICE. 


183 


“I do wish I knew what they said about the picture.” 

“I may find it necessary to tell you some time.” 

"Necessary? When will that be?” 

"When I know more about — ” 

"About me?” she interrupted, "did they call any names?” 

"They spoke of Clare,” 

"Do you remember the name Jerningham?” 

"It was the name of an English peer of the 18 th century.” 

He did not give her time to remind him that it was her 
name also; he asked if the prairies were endurable in summer, 

"Delightful in summer, but almost impassable in winter; 
we spent that season in New Orleans.” 

“No doubt, you saw much of gay life while in that city.” 

She covered her face with her hands, and tears trickled 
through her trembling fingers. 

"Child,” — he laid his hand on her bowed head as tenderly 
as if she were only a child — "that is past; consign any regrets 
to oblivion, and begin life anew. Happy are we if we know 
for certain what God intended our life-work to be.” 

"I ought to tell you why I am here, and why I do not use 
all of my name.” 

"I have promised to ask no questions, but the confidence 
you repose in me will not be used against you or any one 
dear to you,” 

"While we were spending the winter in New Orleans, the 
health of my mother failed; and we remained longer in the 
city for my mother to receive treatment from a noted spe- 
cialist. We attended operas, plays, and other amusements, 
to cheer my mother. Do you think it was wrong to spend 
money in that way, if it was a diversion for her?” 

"No; an occasional visit to hear a marvelous voice or a 
fine delineator of character, is not only pleasant, but ele- 
vating and instructive.” 


184 


THE NOVICE. 


“When the season had passed for prima donnas and star 
actors, the opera house was used by a local troupe, who 
were below mediocrity; but we still occupied our box there. 
In that troupe was a Madame Larrone, who sang passably; 
but the contrast with her distinguished predecessors was too 
marked for her to elicit any applause whatever. Her tinsel 
dress and childish airs delighted my little brother; and he 
rapped loudly with my father’s cane, and cried out ‘encore’!” 

“That stirred the house, I know, and gave her a lift to 
success;” said Gerald, “a spark of enthusiasm, though from 
an unknown source, will stir the masses in a theater as well 
as in a mob: their excitement overbalances their judgment.” 

“One morning this Madame Larrone called to see ‘le peiit 
garcon’ who loved her singing. My brother ran in, exclaim- 
ing, ‘It is le jolie chanieuse;’ and he clapped his hands with 
delight. He had learned a few French words from the ser- 
vants. The woman understood his enthusiasm, laughed at 
his bits of French, and begged to be allowed to teach him. 
After inveigling herself into our home as a self-appointed 
friend and a zealous teacher of French, she she pleaded with 
my mother to turn from heresy so that she might be healed. 
She said the saints would not hear the prayers of a heretic 
unless they confided themselves to the Catholic church. I 
must quote her own words: ‘It is not for to proselyte, but for 
some gratitude I feel; the encores of le garcon made for me 
some appreciation in the opera.’ My father did not think 
for a moment that the faith of m.y mother would loose its 
hold on the tenets of her ancestors. All would have been 
well, but my father was needed in Mississippi to look after 
some interests connected with his plantation; he invited this 
woman to make her home with us as nurse for my mother 
during his absence. She took my brother and myself reg- 
ularly to the Catholic church.” 


THB NOVICE. 


185 


"And there you learned to be a Catholic?” 

"Why not? Their beautiful ceremonies, their deep-toned 
organ, their inspiring songs, — all these things captivated my 
young spirit.” 

“It was an easy task to set their seal on one so young.” 

“What of it? Do you object to the confessional?” 

“Is any needed?” said he gravely, ‘Come unto me all ye 
that labor and are heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.’ ” 

“The priest, a holy man, is a better medium of commu- 
nication with the Deity than our sinful spirits.” 

“Protestant ministers are holy men, and the ‘prayer of 
a righteous man availeth much.’ But God is nearer to us 
than either, and willing to hear.” 

“We are required to take a close inspection of our thoughts 
as well as of our actions,” said she. 

“Is it necessary to expose our faults to one who is inca- 
pable of forgiving sins?” Gerald found himself drifting into 
a useless discussion, and he adroitly changed the course of 
thought by saying, “Each church has its advocates, and its 
doctrines suit them; but the main point is, ‘Fear God and 
keep his commandments.’ But I would rather hear your 
history than to discuss creeds with you.” 

“In the spring I went back to college. Some weeks after 
I left home, the letters of my mother failed to reach me. 
Madame wrote to explain that my mother’s arm was para- 
lyzed, and she could not write. Oh ! this burden of grief 
loses none of its weight as time passes.” 

“Time will heal all pain eventually,” said Gerald softly. 

“Human nature will rebel against the inevitable in life.” 

“In life,” he repeated to himself. He thought her friends 
were not dead, but estranged; and he tried to console her by 
quoting this passage: “When my father and my mother for- 
sake me, then the Lord will take me up.” 


186 


THE NOVICE. 


She wondered what connection there was between that 
quotation and the misdoings of this woman. He saw his 
mistake, but he intended to make the best of it by raillery. 

“Forsake Why, what an idea ! Mine were loving 
parents.” 

“Then, you became a Catholic, and your parents disin- 
herited you.” 

She withdrew her handkerchief from her tearful eyes, and 
looked at him as if much surprised. As he was unable to 
divine her thoughts, he waited for her to make some reply. 

“Men may grieve for the loss of property, but women 
never realize its value until pressed by the necessity for it.” 

She spoke almost scornfully. Gerald perceived that her 
grief had changed to irritation; he thought the change would 
save her from despondency. 

“Girls grieve for lost lovers; I once grieved for a lost dog.” 

“There is a slight difference.” 

“Umph ! so there is.” 

“Since you are tired of my long story, consider it the 
fragment of a fable, and we will drop it.” 

“No;” said he gravely, “1 could not see you grieve, and 
I tried to divert your thoughts by provoking you.” 

“Soon after my father left, there were rumors of yellow 
fever there; and thousands were hurrying away from the city. 
Without waiting for tidings, father went back immediately.” 
Lucile’s voice was almost lost amid her sobs. “The next 
letter from him was a mere penciled scrawl, saying that 
nothing but confused statements had reached him until he 
found a knot of black crepe on his own door.” 

“Dead?” whispered Gerald, unable to wait. 

“Madame’s story was that my mother died suddenly; 
and they were commanded to hurry her into 'the grave, as it 
might be a case of yellow fever. 


THE NOVICE. 


187 


“Father called on the physician who had attended her 
before he left; he said that, during the few visits he made to 
her, she complained of overpowering drowsiness. Then he 
asked if she was addicted to the opium habit. Father could 
not believe such a thing possible.” 

“She may have taken it from the nurse without knowing 
it,” said Gerald. 

“Our physician was busy with the yellow-fever patients; 
and, as he was not sent for, he did not know of her death.” 

“Did your brother take the fever?” 

“He had been carried away from her during her illness. 
Father, heart-broken and desolate, was preparing to return to 
Mississippi, when Madame implored him not to separate the 
child from her; he sent both of them to his prairie plantation. 
After planning his business, he turned westward to bury his 
grief amid the wilds of Yosemite and Yellowstone Park.” 

Lucile was overcome by the recollection; she sat with her 
face bowed in her hands. Forcing back the sobs, she mur- 
mured half aloud, “Oh! if the spirit of my mother could 
have led him up higher with herself, he might have been 
saved from a bitter fate.” 

“His loss was irreparable; and resignation, impossible.” 

“True; his happiness had been complete: her life was a 
part of his. I have often wondered if he ever thought to pray 
God to continue that loving union.” 

“Happiness often makes us careless of our duty to God. 
Afflictions bring us nearer to him,” said Gerald. 

“Yes, trials are our reminders; we need them.” 

Lucile sat quietly but sadly recalling visions of the past. 
How much like a paradise was her home ! Her loving father, 
her gentle, beautiful mother, would they evet have felt 
willing to die, even to reach heaven? Like most people, 
they may have put off death far into the future. 


188 


THE NOVICE. 


Gerald was following quite a different train of thought. 
His musings took a logical turn; “Poor child! no human 
law can bring back the dead, and no evidence against a nurse 
during an epidemic would establish conviction,” 

At last Lucile raised her head; and, seeming to have 
conquered her emotions, she said, “God knew best,” 

“Our griefs may be bitter, but there is an end,” 

“Mine ends only with life.” 

“You are young, and life has its duties,” 

She looked up, but did not reply. 

“Did your father ever return?” 

“After an absence of several months, he wrote that a 
priest had been following him with a message from my 
mother,” 

“Your mother? Where did he know her?” 

“The Madame summoned him to receive the dying con- 
fession of miy mother. This priest told my father that the 
loving influence of Madame Larrone had induced mother to' 
become a Catholic; and in her dying confession mother 
had instructed him to bear to my father the request that 
he would marry Madame, since my brother was devotedly 
fond of her.” 

“Marry her?” said Gerald, compressing his lips, 

“This was a thunderbolt to my father, and he ought to 
have considered it an utter impossibility. This priest stated 
that Madame knew nothing of this request; and that, if she 
refused, then he would be free from this obligation.” 

“How could it be an obligation?” 

“Father wrote that she would be the last woman on earth 
for him, if a second marriage were possible. He thought 
it probable, that Madame had given to mother potions of 
opium, not prescribed by a physician, until her brain was 
softened and her mind wandered,” 


THE NOVICE. 


189 


“The priest came to him again, and said he would leave 
this matter to be debated between his conscience and his 
judgment.” 

“And what was the result of his debate?” 

“Father felt so little interest in the few remaining years 
of his life, now that mother was gone, he may have decided 
to do her bidding.” 

“Surely not !” exclaimed Gerald. 

Lucile was so surprised at his earnestness that she raised 
herself from her reclining position in the rocking-chair to look 
at him. Then she said, “Men sometimes marry from a 
sense of duty, do they not?” 

“1 can only speak for myself: / did not.'’ He was very 
earnest for such a foolish speech, she thought; but he was 
thinking of the widowed sister-in-law and the boy: both were 
entirely dependent upon him. 

“1 have been listening anxiously for that part of your story 
where you come in.” 

“As an actress?” she asked, smiling. 

“I was anxious to hear you describe your own actions.” 

“1 have done nothing in life worthy of record.” 

The tea bell rang. 

“There ! it is time to drop the story, and refresh ourselves 
with something more substantial.” 

“Lucile, I am deeply interested in all you have said; and 
it is no idle curiosity. In me you have the tender sympathy 
and solicitude of a brother.” 

• “Thank you; L know it.” 


CHAPTER XVin. 

Purgatory. 

T he next morning Gerald received a letter from his uncle; 
it was short, terse, and puzzling. 

Atlanta, Ga., Nov. 15 , 1890 . 

Dear Gerald, — Laid up with rheumatism. If you can leave busi- 
ness, go to New Orleans next week. Important; come to Atlanta 
for details. Yours, 

M. Lewis. 

“Go West;” said Gerald to himself, “I must know more O'f 
the history of Lucile before 1 go.” 

He remembered well the region where her father went to 
bury his grief: the gigantic trees of Yosemite, with their dark, 
rich foliage; and the wild grandeur of Yellowstone Park, 
where the tall basaltic columns, funereal in hue, ever point 
heavenward, silently suggesting to the weary soul to “look 
upward.” The lofty peaks, with misty heads invisible, seem 
to have pierced the blue dome, and forced a passage into 
the unknown above. If any earthly power could detach the 
soul from its withering griefs, and cast an oblivious haze 
between it and them, surely those weird cliffs and deep 
crevasses hold the charm. 

There, too, are the falls of “Bridal Veil” and “Virgin’s 
Tears,” beautiful in their pristine sheen, whose glinting spray 
descends, like a holy benediction, upon the desolate mourner. 

If possible, would the weary pilgrim, while there, call back 
the angel wife from a home with God, far more pure, more 
beautiful, and more happy? Could the vilest man, while 
there, dare entertain one polluting thought? 

Gerald’s visions were interrupted by the entrance of Lucile. 


THB NOVICE. 


191 


'•Mr. Bradford, you must have been disgusted with the 
childish manner in which I strung out my history.” 

“I remembered that you were a woman — ” 

“With tears lying very shallow, ready to overflow.” 

“Women are naturally emotional; a hardened woman is 
almost a demon.” 

“Are strong men who have self-control, demon-like?” 

“Men are the sturdy oaks, around which must cling the 
womanly tendrils of affection; when women have manly 
strength, those tendrils are wanting in them.” 

“I am less weak to-day; where did 1 leave off? Now I 
remember; it was in the wilds of the West.” 

“In those canons, where some demon, from Devil’s Den 
or Devil’s Slide, bewitched your father of his reason.” 

“Why do you say such a thing?” 

“Unless bereft of reason, no one could obey such a behest, 
from living or dead, as to marry an odious wretch, whom 
he could not love.” 

“Love? I thought lawyers crushed out such emotions.” 

“Do you consider your judgment infallible?” 

“I think the idea is not original.” 

“I ami called away from home, to be absent for a few 
weeks; and I would like to hear the rest of your history 
before I go to New Orleans.” 

“New Orleans? If I had only known, you might — it is 
too late now.” 

“I can attend to any business that you have there.” 

“I think you cannot do anything for me.” 

She was thinking how much he could do if she had only 
employed him, instead of the other lawyer. 

Well, she did not wish to incur too much obligation from 
one who considered her a beneficiary, dependent upon his 
caprice. 


192 


THE NOVICE. 


She had to snub him now and then to show him that she 
neither sought nor even cared for his favor. She knew that 
he was too honorable to betray her if she confided in him. 

“In your history, you left off at the impending marriage.” 

“If my father ever wrote letters from New Orleans, when 
there the last time, I never received them.” 

“He must have written.” 

“I have thought so. When the college year had rolled 
away, and he did not come, I determined not to go to New 
Orleans.” 

“No, you were jealous of the other woman; you preferred 
to monopolize your father’s love,” 

“It is not so: only selfish people are jealous.” 

“Do you love any one more than yourself?” 

“It is my father’s history, not my own, that I am giving.” 

“Excuse me; I hoped yours would be included.” 

“That is enough;” said she, rising, “I am glad you, and 
not I, will go there.” 

“Let’s both go; you have business there.” 

“How do you know? No, no; I can’t go there.” 

She was pale and trembling when she rose to leave the 
room; he could see no reason why she should be so much 
disturbed. Had he offended her? 

“Hold on !” said he, rising, “you are not vexed with me?” 

“No;” but tears stood in her eyes. 

“Lucile,” said he tenderly, while taking her hand, “if tears 
could obliterate your sorrows, I would shed floods of them; 
but you must not brood over the past.” 

“When I appeal to your sympathy, you ridicule me; you 
accuse me of jealousy for a woman whom I despise.” 

“As you have said, jealousy is the result of self-love, which 
demands love from others, but gives none in return.” 

“Selfish people wish no division of love; do you?” 


THE NOVICE. 


193 


“I am not in the market, now,” said Gerald, 

“If you were. I’m not bidding for you. I merely asked 
a plain question, which your egotism misconstrued.” 

“My affection is divided between myself and my pointer.” 

“In proportion to size, I suppose,” said she, now smiling. 

“And yours, in what proportion?” 

“In proportion to value received, I suppose.” 

“Then your affections are well disciplined.” 

“Under much better control than my thoughts, which 
wander from my story.” 

“You graduated: that is the end of a girl’s ambition.” 

“The night before I left college there was a loud rap on 
my door; I sprang up, thinking my father had come at last. 
But no; in rushed Madame, apparently wild with grief. She 
could not speak for gasps and sobs. “My father!” I cried 
in horror. She seemed speechless with agony; her lips quiv- 
ered, but gave no sound. She simulated the form of letters 
on the palm of her hand, ^d-e-a-d’! The word had less power 
to torture me than the word married had already done. I 
thought only of the escape of my father from a hateful union 
to his reunion with my mother in heaven.” 

“I really pitied this wild, frantic woman, and I tried to 
console her; but she moaned all night. When morning came, 
she was quiet.” 

“Did your brother accompany her?” 

“When I asked about my brother, she pointed up; when I 
questioned her concerning my father, she wailed and pointed 
downward. I was fearful that she was deranged; she did 
not utter one whole, intelligible sentence.” 

“What did she mean?” 

“She afterwards explained that my mother came in the 
visions of the night, and hovered over the bed where my 
brother lay sick; and when she awoke, he was dead.” 


194 


THE NOVICE. 


Lucile dropped her head upon the table, overcome with 
grief. 

“Lucile, if your dear ones are in heaven, would you desire 
to have them back, for the sake of your own enjoyment of 
their society? Grieving over the unchangeable past is 
reproaching God. They are safe, and God knew best when 
he took them home,” 

“How can I help grieving? I am left alone.” 

“Your trials are a suitable training for a grand work in 
this life, and you have me,” he whispered softly. 

She looked up with a grateful smile, saying, “You are my 
friend.” 

“What became of Madame?” 

“The next morning after she came, she retained no visible 
trace of the recent storm of grief. Her face had lost only 
the pinkish hue of former days, and her gay costume had 
been changed for mourning. When I entered the room, 
she arose and embraced me as a necessary formality. Then 
she stated that she was commissioned to bear to me the last 
dying request of my father. She said that his illness was 
the result of despairing remorse; and when he confessed to 
Father Malin, he renounced Protestantism as an abominable 
heresy.” 

“Did you believe that?” asked Gerald. 

“I was young, I did not know what to believe; how could 
she feign so much? Her apparent grief seemed actually 
painful.” 

“She was a trained actress. Continue, please.” 

“She said that father requested the priest to be instru- 
mental in placing her and myself in some convent, where we 
would be required to pray for his soul to be released from 
Purgatory.” 

“You believed that, too?” said he. 


THE NOVICE. 


195 


"Of course, I did. She said my father bequeathed his 
whole estate to the Catholic church as a penance, or perhaps 
a peace offering; he desired me to remain for ten years in 
the same convent to which he had made the deed of gift.” 

"And could you believe he left you penniless, though an 
orphan?” 

"I have doubted it, or I would not be here now. Madame 
said that after ten years I would care nothing for society, 
and I would prefer to continue doing works of charity, like 
the other Sisters.” 

"And you really became a nun?” 

"In my distress I had but little choice, and — ” she whis- 
pered, "I renounced the world and its pleasures, and prepared 
myself to take the vows required on taking the White Veil.” 

"Why do you whisper? Have you anything to fear while 
here?” 

"Much to fear; but I think you will protect me now, and 
never betray me by repeating anything that I have told you.” 

"Never, of course; but I must know what protection you 
need.” 

"I will explain it all to you: Madame Larrone took me to 
a convent in New Orleans; she parted with me there, saying 
that she would go farther North. At the convent to which 
she was going, the Lady Superior was her sister; but the 
winters there were too severe for me. She intended to stay 
there until she took the Black Veil; then she would see the 
world no more.” 

“Well, little nun, how long did you stay hid from the 
world?” 

"I remained there three years, and I intended to stay 
until I was prepared to take the Black Veil, too.” 

“But you longed for the pleasures of society and got 
excused, didn’t you?” 


196 


THE NOVICE. 


She laughed in spite of her efforts to keep fronn it; the 
expression was so ridiculous. 

“1 prayed one hour a day for my father; the rest of the 
waking hours 1 spent helping the Sisters." ' ' 

“What? Helping them to punish themselves?" 

“No, no;" she laughed, “I helped to scrub, to cook, and 
to nurse the sick; the other hours I — " 

“Why, how many hours did your days have there?" 

“Well, the rest of the time I spent in reading, painting, 
and embroidering." 

“All of these accomplishments will be in order when you 
angle for a husband." 

“Husband? I’ve too much to do to think of husbands." 

“When Prince Charming comes, you will change your 
mind." 

“Princes rarely come for poor, dependent girls; I have no 
great expectations, hence 1 shall not be disappointed.” 

“Some man will be disappointed." 

“I shall not hunt him up. I spent much time — ” 

“More hours?" 

“I spent much time alone, when I would commune with 
God as if his bodily presence were visible to my soul." 

“You must have been a wicked little piece if, after so 
much prayer, you needed a priest to help pray off your sins.” 

“I had other things to pray for; I needed patient resigna- 
tion.” 

“Resignation to the inevitable brings peace of mind, but 
God sometimes reserves blessings greater than the loss for 
which one grieved." 

“1 went there to pray for my father." 

“What did your priest say about Purgatory?" 

“1 cannot do justice to his explanations; you must read 
some of the books by Catholic authors. This one illustration 


THB NO VIC B. 


197 


he Used: When Dives prayed Abraham to send Lazarus 
to cool his parched tongue, he thought his punishment was 
not eternal or irrevocable, as that of hell is said to be.” 

“The priest hunted up a Purgatory to put him in.” 

“Does not your bump of reverence need cultivation?” 

“Can’t you allow me a difference of opinion?” 

“I think you read but one side,” 

“Father Malin was a bad type.” 

“He was an exception; he used obsolete customs to carry 
out nefarious designs. Many of the priests were noble, 
generous, self-sacrificing men.” 

“Malin was as evil as his name, was he not?” 

She hesitated and shuddered, then she whispered, “He 
often threatened rm with the horrors of the Inquisition.” 

“For what?” said Gerald quickly. 

“He wanted me to tell him where mother’s jewels were.” 

“What right did he assign?” 

“He said the jewels of a nun belonged to the church.” 

“Did your mother give them to the church?” 

“They were heirlooms, which she gave me as a parting 
legacy when I left for college the last time.” 

“How did he know that you had them?” 

“I think Madame must have suspected that I had them, 
and told him; for he asked if I had any valuables with me.” 

“Where are the jewels now?” 

She whispered softly, as if the walls might hear and repeat. 

“Why did you leave them there?” 

“I dared not attempt to bring them away, for my leaving 
the convent was the merest accident.” 

“Accident? How was that?” 

“Father Malin said no one would dare leave the convent 
after taking the vows that accompany the White Veil.” 

“How did you escape?” 


CHAPTER XIX. 

The Escape. 

POURING an epidemic, which visited the city while I was 
^in the convent, many of the Sisters were overtaxed as 
nurses. As I was then free from any obligatory vows, I was 
allowed to assist Sister Cecilia in her rounds. During these 
visits there was a dreadful railroad accident, and several of 
the wounded passengers were sent to the hospital. There 
were but few nurses; and I had to stand by one of the sur- 
geons, with lint and bandages, while he dressed their wounds.” 

“Ah! Did you faint?” 

“Why, no; I had no time to think of myself. I was so 
anxious for their instant relief, I helped ail I could.” 

“Were they young men?” 

“No; Dr. La Monte and his daughter were among the 
wounded. He lost an arm, and she had a crushed foot; when 
they were able to travel, he insisted upon my going as far 
as their home to attend them by the way. There was my 
chance for escape: he proposed to pay my traveling expenses, 
and he paid me a nurse’s wages. So, you see, I was a nurse.'" 

“Did you wear a mob cap?” 

“No, indeed; I wore the prescribed hood of a nun.” 

“Why did you seek so lowly a position?” 

“I wanted the protection of a private family. When I 
saw your advertisement, I was frightened, and dared not wait 
for a better chance.” 

“Of what were you afraid?” 

“Afraid of Malin’s threats. He said that if I left the 
convent, agents of the Inquisition would carry me off with- 
out the knowledge of the police.” 


THE NOVICE. 


199 


“How much you have suffered from imaginary dangers!” 

“From ignorance, you should have said. While at the 
hospital, I learred many things from Sister Cecilia, which 
she would not mention while we were in the convent.” 

“Medical lore?” 

“Far from it; she told me that Father Malin was brother 
to Madame Larrone; that both had been excommunicated 
from the church as the basest of impostors; and that Father 
Jerome had taken his work.” 

“Ah, indeed! What became of them?” * t 

“They tried to establish claims to the estate of my 
father, in the name of the Catholic church; but whether 
they obtained the deeds or not, I do not know; they have 
left the country.” 

“Now you must listen to me awhile. Take this pencil 
and notebook, and write down the address of your mother’s 
physician, the name of the sexton, and the number and 
street of your father’s residence.” 

She looked at him for a moment as if bewildered; then 
she replied. “I will do so if I can.” 

“Now tell me who was the priest that you saw in the 
Catholic church that day?” 

“Father Malin. It was a glimpse of him from the win- 
dow, which frightened me so that day when I ran to you.” 

“Are you quite sure that this is all you wish to tell me?” 

He was thinking of those two young men whom he saw 
at the Exposition. 

“No letters? no message?” 

“None.” 

“I will employ detectives and recover those jewels, if you 
will describe the spot where they are concealed.” 

“That will be impossible; no man is ever allowed to visit 
those unused corridors.” 


2oa 


THE NOVICE. 


“I shall not see you again before I leave.’' 

He took out his watch, and arose to go. There was some 
d 3 gree of irritation in his manner, and she was quick in her 
efforts to overcome it, 

“I hope you will have pleasant weather and a good time 
while you are away,” said Lucile. 

She appeared not to see his proffered hand, but walked 
with him to the front door. When he offered his hand 
again, she smiled so pleasantly that he looked down into her 
upturned face, saying, “Brothers always kiss their sisters, 
when parting, do they not?” 

“No; when you are away, you will have a better opinion 
of me if I refuse,” 

“That may be true; no man feels respect for a woman 
that allows even little familiarities. Here is my card, con- 
taining the name of the hotel where I shall stay. If you 
think of any forgotten item of information, write to me.” 

“And you? Will you not write if your visit is prolonged?” 

“The request of a sister must be remembered. Good-by !” 

She was standing in the front door after he walked away. 
“How could I tell him that I had employed Col. Lewis as 
my lawyer, instead of him. I dare not incur his displeasure, 
now that he proposes to be so useful a friend. It is better 
not to displease anyone, for we cannot tell how soon we may 
need their services. I was embarrassed when he asked if I 
had nothing more to tell him; he looked as if he knew that 
I was keeping back some information. Well, it may have 
been a guilty conscience that made me feel so. He never 
did tell me those awful things that he heard at the Expo- 
sition. I am sure that Rufe neither said, nor allowed the 
other man to say, anything against me. Dear Rufe, if I 
had only seen him 1 He did not see me I know very well. 
It has been so long, he may not have recognized me; but 


THE NOVICE. 


201 


I would have known him in the jungles of Africa or on the 
icebergs of Greenland, — -even if wrapped in the garb of 
an Esquimau. I’ll never forget those blue eyes. Oh! the 
rides, the rides we used to have ! Sugar-foot learned to 
keep the pace with his Texas pony. I loved Rufe from my 
babyhood; he was a better boy than Alf or Sid. I have not 
seen those boys in eight years. Rufe was my champion 
when the others teased me. The other boys took delight in 
torturing birds, insects, and brutes; if their parents did not 
check them, how much human butchery they may yet do, 

“Dreaming? No wonder. I was there just as the train 
was leaving, and I saw him off.” 

She turned at the sound of the voice, and saw Dr. Win- 
ston coming up the steps of the veranda. 

“Who?” 

“Who, indeed! Have you forgotten so soon? I had to 
say ‘Good morning’ twice before you turned your head.” 

“He scarcely had time to reach the train.” 

“Ample time. You do not mark time when dreaming.” 

“I hope to see some of my dreams repeated in real life.” 

“Who is it that does not review the past in dreams, and 
preview the future in daydreams? 

"But who shall so forecast the years. 

And find in loss a gain to match? 

Or reach a hand through time to catch 
The far-off interest of tears?’ ’’ 

“How I do love the beautiful pathos of Tennyson’s poems! 
Have you any letters for me?” 

“Letters? Yes;” said Dr. Winston, handing one to her, 
"“but Gerald’s letters, were they to be directed to my care?” 

She blushed at this unexpected question. Why did he 
think she would get letters from Gerald? She tried to 
answer him carelessly. 


202 


THB Novice. 


“He did not say that he would write.” 

“A short visit, perhaps.” 

She busied herself with the letter that he had brought hef, 

“This letter is from Mississippi. I am so glad that Rufe 
knows where I am; but how does he know that my letters all 
come in your care?” 

“It is generally known that 1 am your friend.” 

“After opening the letter, she said, “Ah! this is only a 
business letter from Col. Lewis.” 

“Then he is in Mississippi, too. Well, 1 am pressed for 
time; so good-by.” 

When Lucile had read the letter from Col. Lewis, she 
said, “1 must answer this letter immediately. I should 
think that anyone living in that part of the country could 
answer all the questions asked in this letter. Mr. Bradford 
would have unraveled the whole business before now; some, 
people are more cautious; they may be more sure.” 

She sat twisting the letter in her fingers, as if forgetful 
of the prompt reply that was requested. 

“1 wonder if Mr. Bradford will really be angry because I • 
did not tell him about that lawsuit. He may think me- 
very deceitful when he knows that 1 withheld the truth. Sin 
brings its own punishment, even in this life. 

The next week a letter came from Gerald:— 

New Orleans, La., Nov. 20, 1890. 

Dear Lucile,— If I had received a letter from you on my arrival,. 

I cannot tell you how much 1 should have enjoyed it. 

Here there are so many strange faces; such a variety of costumes: 
such a babel of sounds; French, German, Spanish, and dialects of' 
English: but not one familiar voice. I feel as if I had crossed to the 
extreme shore of the other continent. 

After coming to this city, I find that f shall be compelled to go to- 
Europe as soon as I return home, but 1 cannot go alone. I mu.st have 
one fa.m.iliar face near me in order to retain my identity. 


THE NOVICE. 


203 


“Well, he can arrange his plans with Mallie, and take 
her,” said Lucile to herself. 

You can do me the favor of attending to some business matters 
at heme. 

“Can I, indeed? He takes some things for granted.” 

Tell Ralph— 

“Why couldn’t he write to him?” 

The Pauper Home must have another supply of provisions sent 
out, which 1 have already ordered of DeJournette & Co. 

“I do not want to mention this letter to Dr. Winston; I 
believe I will go and tell those merchants myself. But if 1 
do that, he might ask Dr. Winston about it v/hen he returns. 
I see I will have to do as requested, whether I like it or not.” 

Tell Jim — 

“And let him know about this letter.” 

That he must vary the food for my horse, and give him less corn 
when he is not used. Jim must ride him one half hour each morn- 
ing for exercise. 1 feel compelled to trouble you with these requests, 
as 1 have not time to write fnore than one letter. 

“This is long enough for two.” 

1 write to you especially, because 1 feel sure you will neglect none 
of them. 

“How selfish in me to complain even in my thoughts ! 
How often we forget that God knows of our ill-nature and 
our grumbling! If he punishes us as we deserve, heaven 
will have but few inmates. Mr. Bradford will look after my 
interests while in New Orleans; I wonder if he grumbles while 
working for me.” 

As I shall remain but a few days, I cannot expect a letter in reply. 

Yours sincerely, 

Gerald Bradford. 

“If Dr. Winston tells Mallie that I received this letter, she 
may break off their engagement; I hope she will hear that 


204 


THE NOVICE. 


it is only a business letter. I dare not tell Mrs. Bradford, yet 
1 am afraid she may interfere with Jim’s morning rides; — 
yes, I know what 1 will do; I will tell Jim that Mr. Bradford 
has S3nt word for him to feed and use the horse as directed. 
But, then, Jim will ask if Mr. Bradford wrote to me. It is 
really very hard to act deceitfully. If I should prevaricate 
in one thing, I might have to tell half a dozen stories to get 
out of the scrape. When we do one evil act, how easy it is 
to keep sliding down, down — until we land with the Devil in 
his own domains. Upon reflection, I think I will not try to 
deceive anyone about this letter; but treat it as a necessary, 
matter-of-fact affair. If I tried concealment, it might lead 
to a misunderstanding; and he might wonder why 1 cared.” 

Some days later the doorbell announced Dr. Winston, 
without the formality of a card. 

“Miss Lucile at home?” 

“She is,” was the reply. 

When she came down. Dr. Winston read her a telegram 
that he had received: — 

Gerald Bradford wounded in railroad collision this morning. He 
will reach home about four o’clock. 

“Mercy!” cried Lucile, clasping her hands. 

“Now, Miss Lucile, you must nerve yourself, and be 
ready to give any needed assistance. I will have him 
brought directly here. Mrs. Bradford is from home; that 
is lucky: we must have no excitement. Several surgeons 
will accompany me to examine the body; you will be called 
when needed. Get old linen and prepare lint; I prefer it to 
that found in drug stores. But you will think of more than 
I can tell you now. It will soon be train time, and I must 
see Mrs. Bradford and prepare her for the shock; I fear her 
nervous temperament.” 

“She will not return before six o’clock,” said Lucile. 


THE NOVICE. 


205 


-That IS fortunate for her and for him.” 

When every possible arrangement was made for the com- 
ing crisis, Lucile told Jim to be ready to bring any messages 
from Dr. Winston. Soon after the heavy tramp of men, 
as if they bore a burden, sounded in the hall below, and 
paused at Gerald’s door. 

“Was that a groan? Then he is at least alive.” 

The door closed, and she heard only a murmur of voices, 
. which seemed to be mingled with low groans. She knelt 
by her bedside with bowed head. No human being could 
heal broken bones nor prolong life; no one could assuage 
the grief of mourning friends. Happy ought those to be who 
have learned to trust in God. When Lucile had offered 
a fervent prayer for the sufferer, she was more calm. She 
listened, waited, walked the floor. There is no torture for 
the soul greater than anxious suspense. The moments 
seemed to be hours. At last, there was a careful step on the 
stairs; and Jim said in low tones, “Dr. Winston says ’come.’ ” 

As she passed swiftly but noiselessly down the stairs. Dr. 
Winston came out of Gerald’s door. 

“Mrs. Bradford has returned,” said Dr. Winston, “go meet 
her; insist upon silence; give her this if necessary.” He 
handed her a vial. 

She found Mrs, Bradford suffering from palpitation of 
the heart, which caused her to think that she, Instead of 
Gerald, was in imminent danger. She sobbed, sighed, and 
panted, as if each breath would end the tragedy. Lucile 
assured her that a nervous shock was not necessarily death; 
and that a faint, regular pulse did not indicate a collapse. 
She used such strokes and other movements as would quiet 
her nerves; then she slept. 

The light steps of the physicians passed down the hall 
and out of the front door; then Lucile ventured out to hear. 


206 


THB NOVICE. 


if possible, their opinion of the sufferer. Dr. Winsfort 
soon came to relieve her anxiety, saying, “No broken 
bones; terribly bruised; right arm not dislocated, as we 
thought, but completely paralyzed; left foot crushed; too 
much swollen to examine the bones, if any are broken.” 

“What a pity! Can I be of any service?” 

“Yes; he refuses to take narcotics, and sleep would benefit 
him very much. Can you take the electricity from his head 
by gentle strokes of the hand?” 

“I can try.” 

“Soothing strokes quiet the nerves and induce sleep.” 
Lucile entered the room noiselessly; and, seeing his eyes 
turned to her, she said, “We are glad you have reached 
home, so that we may nurse you back to health.” 

“Thank you; 1 am glad to be here.” 

Then he groaned: he had made an effort to raise the 
palsied arm, 

“Don’t attempt to raise that arm again; the left must do 
duty until this one gets well,” said Dr. Winston, 

“There is no pain in this arm.” 

“No; you felt the pain in the muscles of the shoulder.” 

“Your face is flushed; I must show you what a skillful 
nurse I can be.” 

Lucile passed her fingers so lightly over his head that he 
soon felt the effects, without feeling the weight of their tips. 

“The pressure is lifting; what a relief !” 

“You must not speak a word; talking will counteract the 
effect of the strokes.” He grew drowsy. 

“Close your eyes; the light stimulates them too much.’' 

The eyelids closed; the face grew paler; the pulse throbbed 
more slowly and regularly. She lowered the window shades, 
and stepped out into the hall Dr. Winston followed to con- 
sult about Gerald’s food. 


THE NOVICE. 


207 


“How do you like the massage treatment for paralysis?” 
said Lucile. 

“I think it might be successful in such cases as this.” 

“Why? The muscles have not sustained the worst injury.” 

“The nerve power is lacking; every movement of the 
muscles assists the circulation of the blood, and relieves the 
congestion on the nerves.” 

“Is it will-power that is needed to move those muscles?” 

“He exercised will when he attempted to raise his arm.” 

“Yes; and he failed to control the movement. I know 
the results of massage, but not the cause.” 

“I understand what you wish to say. It is the nerves that 
refuse to carry motive force to the muscles. In his treatise 
on Massage, Dr. Taylor says, ‘The disabled muscles must 
be moved by a massage operator, or be helped to move, as 
a child’s muscles are trained. Moving the muscles restores 
the flow of nervous force into its original channels.” 

“I am very glad to understand this mystery.” 

“Some of the northern physicians are not only using this 
treatment; but they have manufactured instruments to do the 
work, instead of using the hand.” 

“Is there a masseur in this place?” 

“I think not.” 

“Then you will have to send off for one, will you not?” 

“I think there will be no impropriety in your movements 
on his arm.” 

“Oh! I fear I have not the necessary will-power.” 

‘‘‘Did you not succeed at the hospital?” 

“Yes; but those patients were not allowed to speak a word, 
and there was a screen between me and their faces.” 

“Well, as I shall always be present, I will forbid his talking; 
and I can screen his face, too, so that you may not falter 
when his face is convulsed with pain.” 


208 


THE NOVICE. 


“Is there no other way?” said she wistfully. 

“None so effectual: stimulating liniments will help the 
diseased muscles; but when there is serous effusion in the 
membrane which covers the nerves, the only help lies in 
massage.” 

“Dr. Winston, your hands are almost as small and delicate 
as a woman’s; why can’t you do the moving?” 

“It requires practice to obtain skill; I might hurt his arm 
by awkward strokes.” 

“I may be as unskillful.” 

“No; I saw those movements over his head, which brought 
a smile of relief. How soon he slept after the pressure on 
the brain was removed!” 

“I might try, but what would he think?” 

“No matter; his thinking is a secondary consideration: he 
cannot tell his thoughts, and it must be impressed upon his 
mind that complete silence is necessary during the massage 
movements.” 

“Be very sure to insist upon silence; if he is not quiet, I 
may lose confidence in myself and become nervous.” 

“You must have the mastery of your will-power.” 

Lucile laughed, as if she did not understand, and said, 
“I think you expect me to mesmerize his arm; if that is what 
you expect, I must cast a spell over him, and command his 
arm to move.” 

“I do not wish you to move the muscles of his arm by 
your will-power, but to train his muscles so that the nerves 
may be roused; then his own will-power, which now lies dor- 
mant in the nerve centers, will control and move as before.” 

Jim sat near the wounded man during the day, ready for 
any behest; moving noiselessly, touching gently. At night 
he nodded in his chair; but no sound, however faint, escaped 
the faithful boy. No education was needed to teach Jim 


THE NOVICE. 


209 


genuine affection or tender care. Education gives skill; love 
and sympathy have a higher source: it is the heritage of 
a loving father; it comes to us when we commune with him. 

Dr. Winston was to return in half an hour; but the time was 
lengthened to two hours, and still he had not come. Gerald 
v/as restless; his groans were louder and more frequent; he 
now complained of neither his head nor his arm, but “my 
foot ! my foot !” 

Lucile was fast losing her calmness and self-control; she 
had telephoned for Dr. Winston, and she stood at the tele- 
phone waiting: would he ever come? She telephoned again, 
“Tell Dr. Winston to come as quickly as possible !” 

“I think / can stir up those men at his office,” said Mrs. 
Bradford, rushing up, and ringing the bell again and again 
with unnecessary force. “Hurry, Dr. Winston, hurry!” 
She screamed so loud that only a confused rumbling was 
heard at the other end of the line. 

“Speak lower and more slowly; then we can understand 
you better,” they replied. 

“Speak lower,” repeated Lucile. 

“As if I did not understand a telephone,” she replied 
angrily. She persisted in standing before the telephone, so 
that no one but herself could do the talking. 

Lucile made a signal to Jim to come out of the room to 
her, and she said to him, “Go quickly for Dr. Winston.” He 
looked toward the telephone, where Mrs. Bradford was still 
yelling, “Come on 1 Gerald may be dying ! How stupid you 
all are ! Why can’t you hear ? I can’t talk any louder.” 
Jim frowned, took up his cap, and flew for the doctor. 

In a few moments Dr. Winston stepped in, too much out 
of breath to talk. Mrs. Bradford saw him and came for- 
ward, saying, “Why, Doctor, I thought you would never 
hear! But I brought you at last.” 


210 


THE NOVICE. 


He passed on into Gerald’s room. Lucile stood holding 
a bottle of morphine for Dr. Winston to inject some into 
Gerald’s ankle, while a basin of hot water stood smoking 
near by. 

Dr. Winston seemed to know what his trouble would be: 
he did not even notice the morphine that she held; but he 
quickly unwrapped the swollen foot, and immersed it in the 
warm water. Gerald certainly felt much relief; Lucile 
walked to the mantelpiece, and placed the bottle there. 

“I see you expected me to use a hypodermic injection 
on his ankle.” 

“Why not? It is often used to ease severe pain.” 

“If a log were to fall on a man’s foot, you might use mor- 
phine to relieve the pain; but do you think he would get over 
the wound if the log stayed on his foot?” 

“So you see, Lucile,” said Mrs. Bradford, “the judgment 
of women can’t be relied on, even when nursing the sick.” 

“There is no discount on women as nurses; they ought 
every one to learn how to care for the sick.” 

“Dear me ! Those medical terms are enough to unsettle 
the mind of any comimon woman. Why do physicians keep 
up those Latin terms? I really think they pride themselves 
on the use of unknown phraseology. Is it because they do 
not wish others to understand their mode of treatment?” 

“Those words are as famiiliar to them as the curious names 
of flowers are to women.” 

“I think they might find enough English words to express 
the same ideas.” 

“Now that women are beginning to study medicine, per- 
haps they may revolutionize our pet names.” 

“Dr. Winston, what is that red liquid that you are pouring 
on Gerald’s foot?” 

“Tincture of arnica.” 


THE NOVICE. 


21 1 

'‘Any old woman would have put a strong pepper poultice 
on that foot; you see I understand the treatment used by 
women.” 

“Not a bad treatment: pepper is a stimulant, without being 
an irritant; when the blood vessels are roused into activity, 
they carry off the bruised blood more rapidly.” 

“Why not draw off the bruised blood by cupping?” 

“Cupping v/ould draw off those corpuscles that bring nour- 
ishment to the tissues near the surface, and cut off the supply 
of oxygen needed for the combustion of the decaying par- 
ticles collecting there.” 

“My!” said Mr. Bradford, “those corpuscles run a reg- 
ular system of navigation up and down the blocd vessels.” 

“We are fearfully and wonderfully made,” said Lucile. 

“Everything is v/onderful that God has made,” remarked 
Gerald solemnly. 

“Gerald dear, 1 am so glad that you are well enough to 
think of other things besides your sufferings!” 

“I am comparatively easy.” 

“Dr. Ralph is a great doctor; I think I will employ him to 
cure Fido’s distemper.” 

“Physicians heal men and horses; women cure dogs and 
■chickens.” 

“Are not all animals constructed on the same plan?” 

“Some special difference; strychnine will kill men, but 
fatten hogs.” 

“Would you advise me to give strychnine to Fido?” 

“Do so, by all means,” said Gerald. 

“Why, Gerald! would you kill poor Fido?” 

“No;” said Dr. Ralph, “try one of your pepper poultices, 
and when I return” — he picked up his medicine case, pre- 
paratory to leaving — “if he is no better, I will amputate his 
head.” 


212 


THE NOVICE. 


As Dr. Ralph passed out, a curly head peeped through the 
half-open door. 

“Mamma!” called Percy in a loud whisper, “may I come 
in if I walk easy?” 

Mrs. Bradford nodded her head to him. The boy walked 
up to the bed, with some degree of timidity and wonder, as 
he gazed upon the pillowed arm and bandaged foot; then he 
crept to his mother. 

“Mamma, must I kiss Uncle Gerald?” 

“Why not?” 

“He might tell me to go away and not bother him.” 

“Come here, old fellow!” said Gerald, who had just no- 
ticed his presence. 

Percy took the proffered hand. 

“What is the matter with that other hand?” 

“Your uncle was hurt on the railroad; don’t ask him any 
questions.” 

“Are you glad to see me? You have not welcomed me 
with a kiss.’' 

“Your face is too white; I think you are sick.” 

“Don’t you kiss sick people?” 

“Why, no! Lucile said 1 mustn’t.” She looked up in 
surprise, 

“Percy, I think you are mistaken.’' 

“Didn’t you tell me not to kiss folks when they are sick?’' 

“Ah, yes; I know to what you refer. I told you that the 
breath of sick persons is poisonous and often spreads dis- 
ease: but your uncle has no disease; he was hurt.” 

“My boy, you are now too large to kiss anybody but 
mamma,” said his mother, while fondling with his curly 
locks. 

“And Lucile, too,” said Percy in an injured tone, glancing 
at the girL 


THE NOVICE, 


213 


“Can’t you include Uncle Gerald, too?” He was clasped 
by the well arm of the sick man. 

“During an epidemic, the Sisters of Mercy use mufflers 
over their mouths when they approach the patients.” 

“1 should think those inhalations much worse than mere 
contact by handling the pulse.” 

“How in the world do they escape the disease, anyway?” 

“They have many infallible remedies, which they carry 
about their person. They rarely contract diseases; but they 
suffer from colds, caused by the change from the warm hos- 
pitals to the chilling blasts that meet them in the streets.” 

“Surely God remembers those who sacrifice their own 
pleasure to minister to the wants and comfort of others.” 


CHAPTER XX. 

Self-Reliance. 

T he doorbell rang. Too early for visitors; who then?” 
“Some of Gerald’s friends, perhaps,” said Mrs. Bradford- 
The mere suggestion disturbed the sick man, and he grew 
nervous. 

“Some one may have called to inquire concerning the 
extent of your wounds, and to offer his sympathy.” 

“Excuse me to them, but keep them out of this room.” 
“Dr. Ralph said that no visitors must be allowed to enter 
here; they v/ould annoy his patient by loud talking, harsh 
voices, and indiscreet comments.” 

“I dread only their inquisitiveness;” said Gerald, “the 
everlasting question of ‘How do you feel?’ as if I could be 
even comfortable.” 

The announcement came to relieve their embarrassment 
and Gerald’s dread. 

“No visitor; only Lawrence the expressman, with a box 
labeled ‘Percy Bradford.’” 

The boy was wild with delight and eagerness. He tried 
to look into the seams between the boards, before a hammer 
could be brought. 

“I know what it is: it is some nice fruit from Mr. Will 
DeJournette; he is such a good man,” said the boy. 

“It is not from Mr. Will this time, unless he’s gone West 
again; for it is from New Orleans, and not from Dalton.” 

“Then some one has sent sugar cane; I think I am too 
large now to gnaw cane.” 

“It must be a mo.ikey;” said Jim, opening the box, “I 
see red leather and nickel buttons or screws.” 


THB NOVICE. 


215 


'‘Bul no live thing could live in the box so long; it is some 
Wheeled thing,” ani Jim pulled out bundles of excelsior. 

“Maybe it is a baby carriage for Percy,” said Gerald in a 
teasing tone, 

“Then, 1 won’t have it !" replied the boy, pouting, and 
stamping out of the room. He Was mumbling to himself 
as he went, “I know Uncle Gerald sent- that thing here just 
because I cried when I cut my finger with his knife. He 
called me a cry-baby then.” 

“Come here quick, Percy!” 

“1 won’t do it. You know I am too big to get in a baby 
carriage with these boots on.” 

“Run here, quick !” called Jim, “its no baby thing at all, 
but a gimcrack affair for a big boy,” 

Percy put his head through the half-open door to satisfy 
his curiosity. Then his frowns gave place to smiles of 
joy. He Walked in with his hands in his pockets, as if he 
did not feel the slightest interest. 

“It is a first-class bicycle!” exclaimed Jim. 

“Then, it is for me, anyhow;” said Percy, drawing his 
hands out to take hold of it, “mine’s worn out.” 

“What is this leather satchel, with stfaps and nickel 
buckles?” 

“Don’t you see? Here is 'U.S. Mail,’ in nickel letters 
on the bag.” 

“That is for Jim,” said Lucile, smiling, 

“No;” corrected Gerald, “Jim will now be much needed 
to attend to my business affairs in the country, and he can 
ride my horse.” Jim stretched his eyes and grinned. 

“God made you to be useful, Percy;” said Lucile, “and 
this bicycle points the way: you can now bring the mail. I 
will go with you a few times; and when you can remember 
'the number of the box, you can go alone,” 


216 


THB NOVICE. 


“What a little man he will be!” said his mother. 

“Percy needs to cultivate his self-reliance;” said Gerald, 
the character of boys is never fully developed until they 
can stand alone, completely sustained in their manly self- 
reliance; unhampered in their will-power, unbiased in their 
judgment.” 

“But, Gerald, who is to train him in these manly acquire- 
ments? You do not expect a woman to do it.” 

“Women can read to boys of noble, useful men: not the 
heroes of war, but of men who have been heroic in saving 
others; not of the destroyers of cities, but of those who sought 
out their poor, and helped them to a better life.” 

“1 have no talent for all that,” 

“Then, for what have you a talent?” 

“Me? Why, I am the light of society, by self-appoint- 
ment; I carry neither a sad nor a morose countenance when 
I mingle with others,” 

“That is certainly true: you have had your cares and your 
sorrows, yet you have not exhibited them in public.” 

“Am 1 to understand that as a compliment, or a rebuke 
for heartlessness?” 

“Neither; I merely stated facts,” 

“But Percy, he seems to be full of innate stubbornness.” 

“That is will-power, which must be directed, not subdued.” 

“It leads him to disobedience.” 

“He is restless; he needs occupation. If he wants to cut, 
show him what and where to cut; and he will not hack your 
furniture: get him' a rake and a hoe.” 

“You do not know him; he would cut down all my flowers.” 

“Then, give him a garden of his own and seed to plant.” 

“Gerald, one would think you the village pedagogue; or 
worse still, some granddaddy graybeard.” 

“I would be glad to have the wisdom of either,” 


THB NOVICB. 


217 


"Of what use is such wisdom to a barrister?” 

“Any kind of wisdom expands the mind, and increases its 
capacity for other kinds of work.” 

“Dear me! Well, 1 have more agreeable subjects for 
thought; and 1 leave Percy to you and Lucile.” 

Mrs. Bradford rose to go, but she hesitated; then she went 
up to Gerald, and said in a low tone, “Will not your uncle 
come, now that you are an invalid?” 

“No!” said Gerald shortly, 

“There is the doorbell; shall I make your excuses?” 

Before he could reply. Dr. Winston was ushered in. After 
examining the pulse, he looked very grave. He unv/rapped 
the foot, and his countenance brightened. When he turned 
to the arm, a look of decision crept into his face. 

“I see that you have had too much company, or perhaps 
you have talked too much yourself.” 

“Yes, Doctor; he’s been teaching me how to raise Percy.” 

“You must talk less, old fellow. Where is Miss Lucile?” 

While Mrs. Bradford was sitting with Gerald, Lucile went 
out to help Percy in managing his new bicycle. She had 
taught him more about the center of gravity than he would 
gather from printed philosophies for many years to come. 
There was considerable exercise for both Lucile and Jim, 
before Percy could assume courage to venture off alone. 

When Lucile entered, her face was so much flushed as 
to attract the attention of the Doctor; he asked if she had 
been trying the bicycle, and she told him that she only acted 
as Percy’s groom. 

“Your services are now a necessity; the massage treat- 
ment must begin to-day, and must be repeated every day 
until the nerve forces are roused into healthy action.” 

Jim had placed near the bedside a small oval table, upon 
which was the pillow that held the limp, insensible right arm. 


218 


THE NOVICE. 


“He groaned when I extended the arm, which shows that 
the communication with some part of the nerve centers, is 
not broken.” 

“His arm is not bruised; how was it injured?” 

“It seems that a large part of the shoulder lay, for some 
time, crushed between two heavy beams.” 

“1 remember weights resting upon those parts before con- 
sciousness left me,” said Gerald. 

“You must have remained there for some time.” 

“1 knew nothing of hours; only that I was immovably fast.” 

“The trapezius muscle is much bruised; the deltoid under- 
neath has been so long compressed that the insensible nerves 
neither receive nor give communication.” 

Lucile was listening to this explanation, though she did 
not expect to remember the names of those muscles. She 
understood the manipulations of the massage treatment: she 
could not tell whether she added to the muscles oxygen, 
electricity, or only exercise; but she was convinced of the 
benefit given. 

“Must I follow the trend of the muscles, or make longi- 
tudinal and transverse movements, as we do when the circu- 
lation is imperfect?” 

“You cannot follow any muscle very far, as they lap and 
interlap over the bones of the arm.” 

“Are there any veins or arteries so much crushed as to 
interfere with the circulation?” 

“The arteries lie near the bone, and their walls are too 
strong to be injured easily. The veins have suffered some; 
the capillaries have suffered most,” 

“Some of the capillaries must halt in their work of feed- 
ing and distributing,” said Lucile. 

“Such talk;” said Mrs. Bradford, “you speak of the body 
as if it ran a dozen eating houses on the railroad plan!” 


THE NOVICE. 


219 


“It lacks the rush of those places just now,” said Gerald. 

“With your artistic ideas, you would have us speak of it 
as if we were infusing life into a marble statue.” 

“Drop all conversation now; Lucile must help this arm.” 

“I have as little taste for medical lore as for law terms; 
so 1 will find something else to do,” said Mrs. Bradford. 

Dr. Winston unbuttoned the shirt sleeve at the wrist, as 
if preparing the way for Lucile’s work; then he thought of 
the promised screen. He looked about in vain for some 
substitute, when he spied a small silk banner upon a side 
table. This he thought would conceal any grimaces on the 
pale face of the sufferer, which might unnerve the young 
masseuse. Gerald’s face was turned the other way, as if he 
did not need any screen to hide her movements. 

“I think that will do,” said Dr. Winston, as he seated him- 
self by the window, and began to read his Medical Journal. 

Lucile was much amused at the ridiculous little screen, 
perched near Gerald’s face, ready to topple over on him. 

She drew down the shirt sleeve and buttoned it again, 
before proceeding with her part of the work. The Doctor 
glanced up; and, wondering if false modesty deterred Lucile 
from giving this treatment, he ventured to ask, “Will not the 
sleeve interfere with the communication of nerve force?” 

“A covering is better than contact with the warm hand.” 

Dr. Winston was not convinced, but he yielded. 

When Lucile had made several forcible strokes upon the 
insensible arm, either the slight noise or concussion of the 
air roused Gerald from a light slumber. He looked around; 
and, seeing the screen, he said, “Do you expect this thin 
stuff to keep out the glare of light?” He had not heard 
the conversation about the object of the screen. 

“Would you have me spatter your face with blood?’ 
asked Lucile. 


220 


THE NOVICE. 


“^ylurder! Is it that severe? Let me see your fingers; 
have they claws like a cat?” 

“Now, Gerald,” said Dr. Winston gravely, “when the 
clock strikes ten, you are not to speak for thirty minutes: 
be as quiet as possible; if you grow sleepy, close your eyes.” 

“One word before you begin: do you suppose Charles 1. 
felt sleepy when his head was on the executioner’s block?” 

“I think he would have been glad to take some narcotic,” 
said Dr. Winston. 

Lucile held Gerald’s hand firmly; and, with the fingers of 
her other hand, she grasped his little finger, and caused it to 
rotate twelve timies on the last joint as an axis: each finger 
was moved in the same way. Then the hand and the wrist 
underwent a similar treatment. When she began twisting 
the arm, there was a perceptible shrug of the shoulder, as 
if some sensory nerves were fully alive. 

Lucile paused, and gave an appealing look to Dr. Winston, 
who motioned for her to continue. She repeated the twisting 
movement, while he watched the face of Gerald to see if 
he was suffering any unusual pain. She looked up at the 
clock, and paused again; as he did not understand why she 
stopped, he came forward and began to unfasten the sleeve 
button. Lucile pushed back his hands and shook her head; 
then she replaced the button. Glancing at the chart before 
her, she commenced other movements: finger-point pres- 
sure, knuckle pressure, rapid striking with the side of one 
hand and then with the other, in alternate strokes. Next 
percussion, by blows with the palms of the hands. 

She went through all the movements in their regular 
rotation; each one to induce some special change in the 
benumbed flesh. Then last came the soothing, by gentlest 
passage of the hands downward to the finger tips. Lucile 
finished just as the half hour struck. 


THE NOVICE: 


221 


Dr. Winston smiled when he felt the pulse in the disabled 
arm. Lucile watched him; and when she saw his smile, 
she was half-vexed, “Surely,” thought she, “he could not 
expect the first treatment to bring sensible improvement. 
Why did he smile? Did he expect too much from my power, 
or was he disappointed in me because I did not blush and 
shrink from the work assigned me? Did Dr. Winston sup- 
pose that I would expect the gratitude of the sick man to 
ripen into love for me? If he did think so, he was mistaken.” 

She considered It her Christian duty to give all the relief 
to the sufferer that it was possible for her to do, 

Lucile, pale and languid, withdrew from the room, wonder- 
ing if her lost vitality had been transferred to the lifeless arm, 
“Why should I sacrifice my health for a man who has 
called me a foo- — ” She was forgetting her promise to 
forgive that rudeness. Forgiving and forgetting go hand in 
hand. Her thoughts reverted to Dr. Winston again, “Prob- 
ably, he had more faith in his prescriptions than in those 
massage movements; his smile was incredulous when he 
felt the pulse. Was he duping me, because he thought that 
1 admired Mr. Bradford? He should remember that a ‘cat 
can look at a king’ without expecting to carry him off in her 
claws.” The ridiculous figure made her smile in spite of 
her ill-humor. “Not so inapplicable, as he wished to see my 
claws. Would not Dr. Winston be elated if that limb re- 
gained its natural motive power? Would he claim its 
restoration as one of his own medical laurels?” 

What did she care? She would be glad of it, 

Lucile’s ill-humor, or rather irritable temper, was owing 
to her physical condition. Irritability is not always the result 
of ill-temper; but, like drunkenness, is often caused by some 
injured function of the body: we are responsible for some of 
our injuries, and we are the victims of their effects. 


222 


THE NOVICE. 


Soms of the substances that injure the nerves are used 
so constantly as to become a fatal habit; then the victim 
needs strength from on high, and there is but one way of 
obtaining it — by fervent prayer. 

It is far better never to form the opium or liquor habit 
than to risk the doubtful cure. 

When Lucile reached her room, her despondency drifted 
into the oblivion of profound slumber. 

The massage treatment had elevated the spirits of Dr. 
Ralph Winston as far above the normal plane as those of 
Lucile had fallen below it. After a careful examination of 
the benumbed arm, he perceived an increase of temperature 
and a small quantity of perspiration. 

“Gerald, 'old fellow, if such results could have been ob- 
tained by a half dozen bottles of tonic, I should have been 
gratified.” 

“Indeed ! Then, there is some witchery in the girl’s touch.” 

Dr. Winston was much amused at this reply, but he pre- 
tended to be very obtuse: he had no more faith in the mas- 
sage than in ordinary rubbing; but he knew that Lucile would 
not condescend to do the latter, and her gentle touch might 
benefit the limb. 

“What is the philosophy of massage?” inquired Gerald. 

“Dr. Taylor’s explanation is this; ‘Motion oxidizes the 
muscles; the oxygen involved causes combustion of waste 
material. Pressure of contracting muscles hastens the flow 
of the tardy blood in the vessels; in other words, urges venous 
blood to the lungs, and some waste matter to the skin.’ ” 

“I know that oxygen is a stimulant, but absorption must 
have some other kind of force.” 

“There is some chemical affinity between the different 
kinds of fluids on either side of the membranous walls of the 
lymphatic capillaries.” 


THE NOVICE. 


223 


“When all our anatomical and physiological wisdom is 
summed up, still how little we really know!” 

“Yes; no man’s ambition need falter for lack of labyrinthian 
mysteries and undiscovered laws and forces.” 

“Do we appreciate these living temples as we ought?” 

“We certainly should keep them as pure within as without; 
think of a body overburdened with indigestible food, and ex- 
posed to one hundred degrees of heat, even in cold weather. 
Such blood poisoning may receive various names.” 

“Ralph, I think your next craze will be those hot-water 
drenchings so much in vogue to cleanse the inner man,” 

“1 am not such a bigot as to refuse any reasonable method 
for cleansing a foul stomach, relieving a clogged liver, or 
soothing corroded kidneys.” 

“Boy ! I will have your head shaved before you drift into 
voodooism,” said Gerald, laughing. 

“If water is safest to cleanse the outer man, what less 
harmful fluid should be used for the more delicate organs 
of the inner man?” 

“Your reasoning seems to be irresistible; how long do you 
think I ought to lie here?” 

“Send and get one of those chairs with a writing-leaf 
on the right arm. I think, with a pillow on that leaf, your 
arm could rest very well with you in a sitting posture.” 

“What about this foot?” 

“It must be elevated to favor the venous circulation.” 

“If the left arm, instead of the right, were injured, I could 
get along better.” 

“It will be many weeks before you can use a pen.” 

“Then I must practice with my left hand.” 

“You have nothing else to do; send Jim for a pencil and 
scratch-book, write a note to Miss Mallie, and see if she 
recognizes the writing.” 


CHAPTER XXr, 
Cross Purposes. 


^ ERALD'S chair, with its leaf support for his powerless 
>1 arm, had been wheeled into the library. Every morn- 
ing, at precisely the same hour. Dr. Winston summoned 
Lucile for a repetition of the massage on the arm. The 
movements were now more rapid and more forcible; Gerald 
was obediently silent, but the wincing of his facial muscles 
proved beyond a doubt that the sensory nerves of the arm 
were roused, although the motors refused to act. 

One morning Lucile was summoned to the library; and, 
as she stood at the door, she noticed that Gerald held a 
pencil in his left hand, and a sheet of paper lay on a table 
by his left side. When she came nearer, he handed the 
paper to her for inspection. 

“What is this? It is not stenography, for the letters are 
distinct in some places.” 

“That is too bad of you !” 

“Let me see: here is V dare deend and the next is wound 
about like a bird’s nest.” 

“Tut, tut ! I fully expected a few salty tears of sympathy 
for my failure.” 

“I can easily read Jim’s large square letters, and I can 
understand Percy’s hieroglyphics; but here is V dare deend " 

“The first is ‘F; then, 'have been.' " 

“I might have known that the first word would be L" 

“Am I so self-assertive?” 

“Oh, no ! but why do you make ^ d iox h and bF" 

“My left hand insists on making left-handed letters.” 

“The next must be the World’s Fair.” 


THE NOVICE. 


225 


“No; that is New Orleans.'' 

“This reminds me of Jim’s first effort to learn his alphabet, 
— his b's and d's, p's and q's." 

“His whole mind was left-handed: you are polishing a 
rough diamond.” 

“You, not I.” 

“Then say we." She felt a blush, and turned quickly away. 

“Come back, Lucile; that is not all.” 

“What is thy petition, and what is thy request?” she sang 
from Queen Esther. 

“You are in a gay mood to-day; I hope the Sabbath rest 
has benefited you, or have you received letters from those 
strangers that we saw at the Exposition?” 

“All the strangers?” 

“You evade the question: I am sure you fully understand.” 

“And is that all?” She was now serious. 

“No, forgive the question; I had forgotten our contract. 
I wish you to write some letters from my dictation.” 

“If they are love letters, I shall be sure of a gay time.” 
She had seated herself at the table, upon which she had 
placed a pen and inkstand from the escritoire. 

“You miay not fully understand the dictation, but remem- 
ber 

She dated the letter — 

Rome, Georgia, Dec. 20, 1890. 

Then she asked, “What salutation shall I use in addressing 
this unknown individual?” 

He smiled at the arch look of anticipation in her face, 
and dictated, “My dear — ” 

She drummed on the table with her fingers while waiting 
for the next word. He studied her face, as she sat looking 
at the paper, then he repeated, “My dear — ” 

“I have that,” said she, looking up. 


226 


THE NOVICE. 


“My dear blank. 

“Shall I write the word ‘blank’?” 

“No; only the usual horizontal line.” 

My dear — — 

Her face was now an unfathomable study; he could rot 
decide whether it was pride, disappointment, pique, or re- 
sentment, that flushed her cheek and brightened her eye. 
He had no intention of wounding her. 

Photographs you wish: — 

1 . Attractive gulf scenes. 

2. Ubiquitous craft. 

3. Flying colors. 

4. Male bird in cage, and female fluttering near. 

Wounds healing. Only positive necessity keeps me from you. 

Sincerely yours, 

G. 

Gerald fully expected a request from Lucile to see those 
pictures, but she sat demurely waiting for further directions. 

“Shall I get an envelope?” 

“No; I have a bundle with the address printed on them.” 

“Then, am I at liberty?” said she, rising as she spoke. 

“Yes, no more to-day; that one letter was giving me much 
trouble. I knew that delay might lead to future disappoint- 
ments, which I could never remedy.” 

“I hope the letter and the photographs will reach the 
owner safely.” 

“My sister, sometime we may be willing to exchange 
confidences.” 

“Those that confide, are slaves to their confidants; and 
we cannot tell how soon we may be betrayed.” 

“Do you mistrust me?” 

“You mistrust me: we meet on the same plane,” 

As the days wore on, Lucile continued the massage treat- 
ment on her silent subject; but never without the sleeve. 


THE NOVICE. 


227 ' 


and with the additional presence of Dr. Winston. During 
the afternoons she wrote business letters for Gerald; none 
of these ever referred to the photographs mentioned in the 
mysterious letter. No allusion had ever been made to that 
letter, nor to those two strangers who showed such interest 
in the crayon sketch at the Exposition. Those two subjects 
seemed to be mutually tabooed as topics for conversation. 

All the law business that required pen and paper, was 
transcribed by Lucile, either as copies, or at the dictation 
of Gerald: no other assistant seemed necessary. There were 
many business letters, besides various business notes that 
Jim carried. The female correspondents were neglected or 
maybe forgotten, during the pressure of law business. 

Dr. Winston once asked, “How many love letters has 
Lucile written for you?” 

“I dare not jeopardize a human life, even to win the favor 
of any woman.” 

“You are too matter-of-fact; I think you will never have 
time to marry,” 

“Lucile was growing equally practical,” thought Dr, 
Winston, as he stood looking toward the window, where she 
now sat writing rapidly. He remembered her saying that 
she must have money, not thanks, for her services; that she 
preferred to cancel all disagreeable obligations; and that 
money alone could fully balance debits and credits. 

Gerald was willing to pay thousands for the restoration of 
his arm; but she insisted that there were doubts concerning 
the result, and she could not conscientiously take more than 
$3.00 for each treatment. 

Gerald interrupted the Doctor’s musings by asking, “Gan 
I ever walk?” 

“You may forget how before your weight can be borne 
on that foot.” 


228 


THE NOVICE. 


There was a deep sigh. Ralph turned to look at Gerald, 
but he did not seem more despondent than usual. 

“Surely not Lucile !” thought he, looking at her again; but 
her features were as immobile as if she had been deaf. 

“Ralph, my best foot is growing torpid; sometimes it 
tingles as if a weight were resting upon it.” 

“The constant inactivity benumbs it.” 

“Jim must be your third doctor. I will send up some 
stimulating liniment, which he must use vigorously to rouse 
the dormant sensibility.” 

“I had hopes of using crutches when the other foot im- 
proved enough to be raised, but I seem to grow weaker.” 

“Inactivity weakens even well people: some make the 
great mistake of spending much time indoors because they 
are feeble. Consumptives die early for want of fresh air 
and exercise; and I may add too heavy clothing.” 

“Give up the worry of your law business; get Miss Lucile 
to read some entertaining book: a hearty laugh would stimu- 
late you; agreeable sensations thrill the nerves, and increase 
their activity.” 

“Lucile reads to me on the Sabbath, and — ■” 

“How much does this practical lady charge for those 
Sunday readings?” 

“I never charge for Sunday work.” 

“She considers that missionary work.” 

“What is the style of reading on those days?” 

“Religious always; we dare not violate the Sabbath with 
secular or worthless literature.” 

“We discuss religious points,” said Lucile. 

“I would like to join that missionary band.” 

“Lucile said that Jacob was the best man of his time, 
because he worked fourteen years to get the woman he 
loved,” said Gerald. 


THE NOVICE. 


229 


“And Mr. Bradford said that Jacob was an old fool to 
work for one woman so long, when there were so many 
pretty maidens all over the country,” replied Lucile. 

“Lucile, I gave a better reason than that: Rachel was a 
thief, and of jealous disposition.” 

“Jealousy indicates strong love.” 

“I had rather some one would work that long with me 
than /or me,” said Dr. Ralph, rising to leave. 

“I have finished this,” said Lucile, “and 1 hope it will not 
be interspersed with that conversation.” 

“You have too much concentration for such a mistake.” 

“I may have ordinarily; but when we strike a discussion, 

I am all attention to that.” 

“That is owing to your aggressive disposition.” 

“You are not always on the defensiva; but 1 would rather 
you would say that than to flatter me.” 

“How could you be flattered?” 

“That is the climax of flattery,” said she. 

“Do you suppose that Jacob had to keep up his method 
of flattery, during all those fourteen years, when she knew 
he was working to win her?” 

“Jealous people require a great deal of coaxing.” 

“It is because they have no confidence in the professions 
of their beloved ones.” 

“Genuine love is immortal, and dispels all doubts,” said he. 

“It is more: it binds us on earth, and links us to Deity.” 

“That is the most exalted idea I ever heard.” 

“It is a sacrilege to use the term in any but a sacred 
sense, and coupled with truth. The silliest novels bandy the 
term as if it were the epitome of all that is false.” 

“Do you think God intended certain ones for each other?” 

“I do,” he said quickly, “but the mates get very much 
mixed and scattered.” 


230 


THE NOVICE. 


“Some are misled by the love of money, or the desire for 
position; they should seek their affinities.” 

“Have you found yours?” 

‘'No questions, you remember.” 

“How can one who never felt its power discourse so well 
of love?” 

“We are exceptions.” 

“Then we have not found the destined affinity.” 

The tea bell rang. 

“That settles the question.” 

The next week was for Gerald one of laborious and com- 
plicated mental strain; business letters flowed in so rapidly 
that he handed many of them to Lucile to read and answer, 
as circumstances would seem to dictate. 

“Lucile, you promised yourself a gay time when you would 
be required to answer some of my love letters.” 

He held in his hand a delicate envelope, addressed in 
characters decidedly feminine. 

“My brother, have you at last succumbed to the tender 
passion? You, an expounder of the law?” 

“Why not? Do you suppose I am’ made of adamant?” 

“No; unless you are in a fusible state.” 

“We are both tired of lawsuits, and now is the time to 
answer this letter. Tell her that I adore the ground upon 
which she walks, and that I have fed upon sillabub and 
moonshine since the reception of her letter.” 

“For shame ! Women like sincerity as much as men do.” 

“Read the letter aloud, and judge of its merits.” 

Dear Gerald, — 

“Stop there! No lady, on so slight an acquaintance, 
should address a gentleman thus, — using dear followed by 
his Christian name. The salutation should be — 


Dear Mr. Bradford, — ” 


THE NOVICE. 


231 


"Do you criticise the letters of all your friends in this 
severe manner? You may be dear tQ har.” 

"Better, by far, to conceal her love than find it unrequited; 
bold women have the contempt of both sexes.” 

"Pshaw! Let’s be sensible. I’ll read on.” 

Dear Mr. Bradford,— We were thrown into the wildest consterna- 
tion by the news of a disastrous railroad accident, in which several 
of our dearest^friends were killed. Then imagine our heartrending 
grief when we saw your dear name in the list of the wounded. 

"When I reply to that, I suppose I must say it is a pity 
that she should find your name among the wounded, instead 
of being with the dead.” 

"Lucile, you are jealous of my popularity.” 

"Sisters are zealous for, but not jealous of, brothers.” 

"Women are always more ready to condemn a fault in 
one of their sex than men are.” 

"I have not said a word against the term ‘dear’ in the 
letter, neither have you; I suppose you like this tribute to 
your self-love.” 

"Lucile, it irritates me to be called selfish.” 

"This irritation is a proof that you are selfish. It is said 
that you can catch a rogue by mentioning a theft to every- 
one suspected of it.” 

"Selfish people are not necessarily rogues.” 

"No; only the guilty get angry when accused of crime, for 
I have heard joz/ say the same thing.” 

"Do read on!” 

Society has missed its best favorite— 

"Mr. Bradford, how many degrees has the word favorite?” 

"If you were a favorite, you might not object to double 
superlatives; read on.” 

"Sick people are said to be convalescent when they are 


cross. 


232 


THE NOVICE. 


“Where did I leave off? I see row; most best favorite." 

She glanced up with a provoking smile; but she saw that 
Gerald was very weary, and she began to fold up the letter, 
saying to him, “You are tired of so much nonsense; let me 
put the letter away, to be finished another time.” 

“No; read on.” 

Every group of young people that I meet, seem veiled in a cloud 
of sorrov/. 

“Stop 1 Tell her they must have been shrouded in a cloud 
of smoke; perhaps a Chicago milkmaid has upset another 
lamp.” 

Lucile laughed heartily. She folded the letter, and laid 
it away in his escritoire; then she gathered up the writing 
materials, and laid them aside. 

“I can’t write any more this time; are you too much 
irritated to feel like forgiving me for so much foolishness?” 

“Forgive you?” said he in a weary tone, 

“Yes; you have worked too hard to-day; you overtaxed 
your strength, and 1 tried to amuse and divert you.” 

“You are the best sister in the world.” 

“You musn’t touch another book or paper to-day; if you 
do. I’ll tell the Doctor to give you a big dose of something 
terrible.” 

“You are the most domineering secretary I ever saw, 
and you are trying to force me into obedience by threats.’* 

“Some can’t be managed any other way.” 

She lowered the curtains, and left the room noiselessly. 


CHAPTER XXIT 
If Any Lack Wisdom. 


^OLONEL LEWIS had been absent fronri home several 
^ days, attending different courts in the adjoining counties^ 
After unloading his valise of its numerous law documents^ 
and stacking them in various pigeonholes in his escritoire, his 
next thought was of the accumulated mail piled upon his 
table. He turned over many of the letters, as if in search 
of some very particular one. A broad smile lit up his care- 
worn features when a well-known style of envelope appeared 
above the rest, with his address printed or\ it, 

“Here it is, I am glad the poor fellow is able to write; 
I have been much distressed since that dreadful collision.” 

He tore off the envelope quickly, in his eagerness to hear 
fromi his nephew. “Not his writing; dear me ! even his sig- 
nature in a lady’s handwriting. Then, he must have been 
well enough to dictate the letter, I have seen that writing 
before, but for the life of me I cannot tell where.” 

He puzzled over the writing before examining the contents. 

“What in the thunder does this mean!” 

Photographs you wish- — 

“The lady has made some mistake. I’m no boy to be 
fooling with photographs. It may be some joke; let me see: 
she may mean the photograph of some criminal. By the 
bye, I havn’t heard from Gerald since he came from New 
Orleans. I’ll just read it through and see. This is better 
than shorthand; so many who understand that, could make 
nothing out of this letter.” 

Col. Lewis read many letters from various persons; some 
were clients, some wanted information, some sent checks 


234 


THE NOVICE. 


for money due him, some wanted to borrow a few dollars, 
others would like to get a few thousand. 

“I shall visit the West very soon. I must look up that 
crayon picture, and carry it this time, so that I may not 
make any more mistakes as to the persons concerned. In 
the conversation I had with Col. Orr, I perceived that he 
was a friend of the girl. The lawyers of her cousin may try 
to prove that some impostor represents the girl; a Madame 
somebody has already sworn in court that the girl is dead. 
Her relatives have not seen or heard from her for several 
years. I will examine the records in Houston, Aberdeen, 
and elsewhere, if need be. Those ‘birds’ played a daring 
game. They may get their wings singed yet. Poor de- 
fenseless women ! How often they are cheated out of their 
rights ! Gerald is such a hot-headed fellow when he is fully 
aroused, I fear for his safety. I do not like his tampering 
with that lawless band who infest Last Island; dangerous 
business, because the law cannot reach them. He !nay be 
mistaken in his information, or they may be refugees from 
justice, hiding there. That craft may belong to them, it is 
true; and Madame may be there, too. The less we have to 
do with lawless, unprincipled people, the better for us. The 
enemy that has not the courage to attack us in daylight, 
may prove a dangerous incendiary at night.” 

****** 

“Mr. Bradford,” said Lucile, “you seem to be unusually 
depressed to-day. I hope your suffering has not increased; 
I thought there were signs of some improvement in the flex- 
ibility of your arm, and I may have neglected you more 
than was for the best,” 

“You may be tired of an unpleasant task.” 

“No, not tired; I have been very busy.” 


THE NOVICE. 


235 


“When we are busy, the time slips away unheeded.” 

“I have come to read the Taming of ths Shrew.'' 

“I suggested that for your private reading; I may never 
have a shrew to be tamed.” 

“Well, shall I read you Oliver Twist?" 

“I do not admire Dickens; when I follow him into one 
of those hovels, my mind recoils, and down goes the book.” 

“You are the first person I ever saw with an aristocratic 
imagination. You find nothing congenial in the fictitious 
poor. If you were an absolute monarch, I think you would 
send all the idle poor to the executioner’s block.” 

“No; 1 would try to imiprove their condition: helpless pov- 
erty pains me.” 

“Whether they have your sympathy or not, I know they 
have a good deal of your money.” 

“How do you know? Have I ever said so?” 

“No; but you will not deny it, I think.” 

“Those who have plenty should help the poor, of course; 
and the poor should be grateful in return. But the selfish 
rich and the envious poor help to erect a common wall of 
division between each other.” 

“Does not one’s estate mark his caste in society?” 

“By no means; the degrees of education and refinement 
draw those lines. How soon the rich fool finds his level, 
and the threadbare genius reaches the pinnacle!” 

“And the mediocres dangle between at different heights.” 

Both laughed at the ridiculous picture. 

“Some of the nobility of England may be very benevolent, 
but many of them care as little for their poor tenants as they 
do for their horses, cows, and other animals. All of these 
either add to their comfort or help to increase their wealth.” 

“The caricatures of Dickens must have roused them, 
while they found amusement in his books.” 


236 


THE NOVICE. 


“So Victor Hugo stirred the pulse of the French/' 

“Let me read to you of Jean Valjean again.” 

“No, Lucile, let us talk of real life, as we find it here; I 
prefer that to Les Miserables ’ 

“The Pauper Home has proved to be a success, and the 
Workhouse for the Friendless is reforming many vagrants 
and street loungers.” 

“Did you succeed in procuring any of the public funds 
for either of them?” 

“Public funds are like the balls in a game of tennis, and 
the votes of a legislative assembly are the bats: there is no 
guessing where the balls may land; the best batter has more 
power over those balls than the combined judgment of all 
the participants on the ground.” 

“When you go to the Legislature, I know you will be the 
wisest, strongest batter there.” 

“My visions of the future never point in that direction.” 

“Where then? Forgive me: I remember ‘no questions.’ ” 

“Lucile, is it not time for an exchange of confidences?” 

“No; 1 am afraid of confidences: I might talk in my sleep 
or forget.” 

“I am now at a turning point in life; my inclinations tend 
one way, and my judgment another.” 

“So serious as that? Then trust the decision with no 
mortal. Be sure to offer it on your altar of prayer. God 
Is our best friend, and the only one infallible in judgment.” 

“The idea I have of God is,‘ that he is a being of such 
majesty, power, and sternness, I dare not mention to him 
things so insignificant.” 

“‘If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that 
giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall 
be given to him.’ ‘What things soever ye desire, when ye 
pray, believe that ye receive them, and ye shall have them.’ ” 


THE NOVICE. 


237 


'“The passages you have quoted are full of promise. My 
prayers are never neglected, as a matter of duty; but they 
are a vague combination of regrets and promises on my part, 
and petitions for forgiveness and for protection.” 

“God knows our thoughts, still he commands us to pray.” 

“Do you think 1 ought to break an engagement made 
previous to that railroad disaster?” 

He did not look very much troubled. 

“I cannot tell. If she wishes to be released, by all means, 
let her be free from the engagement.” 

“Consider the probabilities; one foot, one arm, an invalid.” 

“If she loves you, these will not change her affection.” 

Tears came to the eyes of Lucile, real tears of sympathy; 
she drew her breath quickly; it was almost a sob, but in a 
moment she had controlled herself. Gerald had seen those 
tears; he smiled: but she was not offended, because she had 
not looked up at him while talking. 

“Ought not I to offer her a release?” 

“Yes; but I am sure she will refuse the proffered release.” 

“She may think her part in life will be slavery to a cross 
invalid always demanding some unnecessary attentions.” 

“Those cares would be sweet employ to a loving woman.” 

“Lucile, little sister, you are a jev/el. I think you ought 
not to marry; some heartless man might break your heart.” 

“I will not take that kind of man.” 

“How can you know?” 

“I will ask God to give me the wisdom I need.” 

“Woman’s love is founded on admiration; I maybe lame 
and ungainly.” 

“Suffering has added spiritual beauty to your handsome 
features.” 

“That is the opinion of a biased sister.” 

“That noble intellect is not lame.” 


238 


THE NOVICE. 


“I think I must send you out as miy advocate.” 

“Do; I may be successful. Let ms know when that lady 
is free, and I will auction you off. Handsomest man in 
town, going, going, going; the wit of society, going, going, 
going; the greatest tease, going, going — ” 

“Stop there ! Cry out only miy merits." 

“Best lawyer, going, going — ” 

“Suppose I get no bid. You will be like the auctioneer in 
the song, who sold the tenor and soprano, but had no bid for 
the alto,” said Gerald. 

“I have not heard the song; what did he do with the alto?” 

“Get it, and dispose of me as he disposed of the alto.” 

“Perhaps he dropped her, as your ladylove may do you.” 

“No; he did not do that. Confidence ought to be mutual: 
you have heard my story; now confess yours.” 

“I’m not in the marriage bazaar: I have no love affairs.” 

“What about those two young men at the Exposition?” 

Just then Jim walked in with the mail. Gerald looked 
over the letters, and handed one to Lucile, postmarked 
Aberdeen. 

“Where did you get this, Jim?” inquired Lucile, who was 
much surprised. 

Jim had made a mistake; he scarcely knew what expla- 
nation to make. He wriggled and twisted, and finally said 
“Dr. Winston handed me that letter, and said, ‘Jim, carry 
this, and give it into Miss Lucile’s own hand.’ I ’lowed to 
do it; but I heard Dr. Winston say a man was bad off, and 
he was in a powerful hurry. I was so concerned ’bout that 
sick man I didn’t mind what he was saying to me.” 

“No matter,” said Lucile, blushing deeply and leaving 
the room. 

Gerald thought she had more love affairs than she was 
willing to admit. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 
An Eavesdropper. 


Q ERALD was sitting in his arnnchair, with a book propped 
against his disabled arnn. He was looking at the picture 
that had been copied by Lucile. 

“Lucile may have crayoned that picture for the Expo- 
sition, as a clue by which those young men might find her. 
Ralph was up to some scheme that day, but my conjectures 
ran on the wrong track. I have tried to draw her out, but 
she will not tell anything about those young men. Pshaw ! 
What do I care? I hate concealments in anyone. That 
one streak in Lucile’s character mars its excellence. But 
I must not judge her too harshly; she may be debarred 
from speaking by some promise, or she may be engaged to 
one of them. That letter, perhaps, is only one of a series 
previously received, all directed in the care of Ralph. She 
Jias never mentioned that lawsuit; I wonder if she thinks I 
would be jealous of my uncle’s case. Foolish girl ! 1 would 

not have charged her for my services; as it is, the suit will 
probably cost more than it is worth.” 

Gerald Bradford turned over the unopened letters lying 
on the chair leaf. “Here’s one to me, from Aberdeen.” 

Aberdeen, Miss., Jan. 15 , 1891 . 
Dear Gerald, — Business of minor importance detains me here. 
Many of the citizens are friends or relatives of Col. Jerningham. 
On account of certain rumors, I have decided to send for the girl. I 
mailed a letter to her to-day. 

Some think the girl is dead; Bean is the next heir. Others think 
Bean intends marrying her, if she ever makes her appearance above 
ground. The main object of this letter is to tell you to delay all 
your plans with those detectives in New Orleans. 


240 


THE NOVICE. 


If they marry, this Bean can do the unraveling of that mystery 
by putting his head into that hornet’s nest: and you escape all the 
risks. Glad you are improving. 

I leave this afternoon for Houston, where court will be held soon. 

Yours, 

M. Lewis. 

“Umph! said Gerald to himself, “her letter may have 
been from my uncle, after all. Why couldn’t she say so? 
She thinks that I do not know anything about this lawsuit. 
1 don’t like women that babble everything they know, but 
she carries her reticence too far to please me. 

“If she wants to marry Bean, I have no right to interfere; 
but I must not allow her to wed a spendthrift or a scoundrel, 
without exercising a brotherly interference. I have not for- 
gotten the conversation of those tv/o men, in which they 
spoke of securing her property by a repulsive marriage. No; 
she must not make that mistake. I will take upon myself 
the privilege of defending her, even with my life.” 

Gerald’s fist came down on the table with a blow that 
scattered the letters all over the floor. 

“Is it an imaginary fos that you are pounding?” said 
Lucile, entering. 

“Yes; I may do something desperate some day,” said he. 

“Then, I will come again, when you feel less savage,” 
said she, crushing a letter in her hands, and turning to go. 

“Don’t go; I will try to be more civil. You see I have 
some trials as well as yourself, and I have less patience.” 

“It is because you are still weak from your late illness.” 

“Your construction is better than I deserve, I see that 
you have a letter, too; it must have given you more pleasure 
than mine did to me.” 

No; it has worried me a great deal, and I am afraid you 
will be vexed still more when you see it.” 

“Why do you think so?” he blurted out. 


THE NOVICE. 


241 


“I don’t know — I ought to have told you sooner about this 
business, but I dreaded to tell you.” 

“You think me a savage, and dislike to confide in me?” 

“No; I can’t bear your ill-will, and suspicion tortures me.” 

“What do you mean, Lucile? If you wish my advice, I 
will do the best I can for you.” 

“This letter is from a lawyer, who has a case in court in 
which I am involved.” 

“Involved? Is the case on the criminal docket?” 

“You cannot get rid of the idea that I am a criminal, 
masquerading among genteel people. I said ‘involved’ when 
I meant interested.” 

She was trembling with suppressed wrath. 

“Sister ! Forgive my cruel words,” said he tenderly. 

“A criminal sister?” 

His tenderness brought her tears in abundant streams. 

“I did not infer that ji/ov were the criminal; you must not 
think so: you are too dear to me for that.” 

She looked up to express the scorn she felt, but his troubled 
face checked the words. 

“Lucile, will you listen? I have an explanation to make.” 

She bowed her head to him, without speaking; then she 
turned to listen. 

“Some years ago I had a peculiar law case, in which an 
actress had been killed. The supposed murderer was an 
actor, who fled, leaving behind a beautiful daughter. I was 
more anxious to save her from detectives than to have her 
imprisoned by them. When I questioned you, your stubborn 
silence provoked my wrath many times.” 

“I tried to keep up the impression that I belonged to 
some troupe in order to shield myself; you know that I 
had an awful fear of that threatening priest.” 

She shuddered at the recollection even yet. 


2A2 


THE HO VICE. 


“I know/’ said he, taking her cold hand in his, “and hence - 
forth I must bs your best friend; can you trust me now?” 

“Yes; I think I can trust you more than anyone else.” 

“We must never allude to this again.” 

“Are you sure you never will?” 

“Never; remembrance keeps up the fires of resentment.”’ 

“Here is the letter; you must forgive me for not telling: 
you sooner. Do you know this lawyer?” 

“I ought to know him; he is my uncle. I knew all about 
this case before. I thought you alluded to something else.” 

“You would not tell me you knew him; now we are even.’' 

“So you thought I would be jealous of my uncle?” 

“Not jealous, only vexed. Now, read the letter, and tell 
me when to go/’ 

Aberdeen, Miss., Jan. 15 , 1891 . 

Dear Miss Jerningham, — -The time has come for you to be present 
at court. I have to prove that you are living; in law, visible objects 
are more potent than doubtful witnesses. One witness states that 
you were spirited away by an Italian woman five years ago. Another, 
that you died in a convent, v/hich has since been burned. Do you 
think you would be recognized? Come immediately. 

Yours sincerely, 

M. Lewis. 

“You are anxious to go, are you not?” 

“If you can go with me.” 

“No, Lucile. How could I go with this foot? You are 
only timid; you must look forward to the fortunate results.” 

“Go alone ! But for one thing, I would give up the whole 
business.” 

“Give it up? I thought that was part of your life-work.” 

“Yes;” she said dreamily, “I must carry out my designs.” 

“Then, you are a designing little woman.” 

“Men think girls’ designs run in but one direction.” 

“They run into marriage, do they not?” 


THE NOVICE. 


2 ' 4'3 


■“Mine are different.” 

“Go; there can be no danger. You must remember the 
dear ones that you will meet there.” 

He scanned her face so closely that she blushed, and he 
thought those crimson flushes an evidence that the rumors 
mentioned in his uncle’s letter were true. 

“Do you think you will find time to write to me?” said he. 

“Oh, yes; of course, I will write and tell you everything.” 

“Promise ms one thing” — ‘he took her hand, and it 
trembled in his— “promise me to form no plans without 
first consulting me.” 

He was thinking of the threats of those young men, and 
he was uncertain as to the relation that already existed 
between her and one of them. It was a delicate matter, 
but he must interfere. 

“Yes, I promise; I need your advice.” 

“Come home as soon as possible.” 

“Do you think I may fall into the hands of train robbers.” 

“There are bad men who belong to no thievish band, men 
who would marry an innocent girl for her money.” 

“I’ll have a marriage contract,” said she, smiling. 

“Then, have you decided to marry?” 

“I’ll never marry a mian unless he loves me and loves God.’* 

“How will you know?” 

“By intuition; sinful men are repulsive.” 

“The wicked can m.ake themselves very attractive when 
they are determined to win.” 

“Well, I have my brother to guide me in all important 
decisions, like marriage; but when you select for me, don’t 
choose a cold, cross, contrary man.” 

“I thought you said matches were made in heaven.” 

“I may not know whom the Lord intended for me. You 
understand what temperaments will harmonize.” 


244 


THE NOVICE. 


“Will you allow ms to choose your future companion?” 
“Provided” — she looked up, wondering at his earnestnes 
— “provided I have the privilege of refusing him if — ” 
“Such a proviso counts out my authority as brother.” 
“Your objections have great weight.” 

“My wishes?” 

“Are to be considered, of course. I must hurry up and 
pack my extensive wardrobe. Please examine the railroad 
schedule for me.” 

Houston, Miss., Jan. 23 , 1891 . 

Dear Mr. Bradford, — Has the critic any objection to this style 
of address? Unlike your fair correspondent, I have ignorance for 
my excuse when mistakes are found. 

Just as the train began to move out of the depot. Dr. "Winston 
passed the car window, and I raised my veil to bid him ‘goodbyh 

“Ah ! Whither bound?’’ said he, with much surprise. 

“Westward ho!’’ The reply had scarcely left my lips when my 
ears were assailed by the voices of two men who sat behind me. 

“Umph I Rather sentimental !’’ said one of them. 

“That man’s face was full of surprise,’’ replied the other. 

“Very indefinite reply; she must be his wife, taking French leave.” 

“He took her departure very coolly.” 

“I could not see her face; not married though. I dare say she 
belongs to that withered stock of single wallflowers, who are counted 
out of market. She is looking for other ‘green pastures’.” 

“You are mistaken in your guess. She is bound on a missionary 
tour — the last, inevitable resource of Protestant old maids.” 

‘ ‘Yes; Catholic maidens, when out of style, vanish into a convent. ’ ’ 

“Her mission must be to the Utes or Comanches; for miners never 
stop delving for anything but gold.” 

“Pull out your purse; she may take up a collection.” 

“Not I. Mine was swinged at the last saloon; I’ll have to stop 
over at the next station, and recruit it by fleecing some of these green 
country youths.” 

“Easy game; if they have money, they are fools enough to show it.” 

“1 think you have missed the trail of that ancient female: she is 
going West to wave her faded locks in the face of some cattle king.” 


THE NOVICE, 


245 


“Infernal impudence!’’ muttered Gerald, while the letter 
trembled in his grasp, “I am sorry I did not send Ralph 
with her. If I had been there, I would have pitched both 
of the scoundrels out of the window.” 

He picked up the fallen letter, and read on. 

I was thoroughly disgusted, and determined not to raise my veil 
until they should leave the car. Of course, these were low speci- 
mens of the genus homo, not worthy of a second thought. Any man 
with a soul, whether cultured or not, would shield a woman against 
possible rudeness, even though her garments bore the impress of 
poverty. 

At the next station, these well-clad boors carried out with them 
the combined odors of whisky and tobacco. 1 had hoped their seat 
would remain vacant; but no, a sad-faced woman led in a small 
child with a bright, beautiful face. 

“I am glad the child came,” thought Gerald, “for even 
wicked men have an innate reverence for innocent childhood; 
they seem to recognize God’s fatherly love and care for 
them; they shrink from his judgments for injuries done to 
these little ones.” He turned again to the letter. 

The somber folds of crepe about the mother marked her kin- 
ship with the dead; perhaps, a dear one had escaped from a bed of 
suffering to meet the Christ she adored. A common woe ever strikes 
a chord of sympathy in all mankind; for who has not felt the same 
sorrow for the dead? When she came in, the voices around sank 
lower; there was a hush; and for awhile every face became more 
serious. The mourning habiliments seemed to carry a silent warning. 

The playful child drew no responsive smile to the shadowed face 
beside her. Childhood carries its own sunlight, even when cast into 
dark places; cloudlets of sorrow touch them lightly, and then pass 
on. If we would be like children in our loving trust in a common 
Father, I think our clouds of sorrow would be gloriously tinged with 
hope, and softened in tone by calm resignation. The child’s seat 
was turned backward; and she stood upon it, and leaned over mine 
to ask, “Lady, what’s in your basket?’’ Thanks to Jim, there were 
fine grapes, which 1 fed to the child while 1 chatted with her. She 
put her arms around my neck to whisper the family grief, — a dead 


246 


THE NOVICE. 


grandmother, and a return to a Western home. I did not notice 
the entrance of two men, who were then seated before me. 

“Here, chubby, is an orange for you, and one for your mamma,’” 
said one of them, handing it to me. The gathering dusk helped to 
shade my face from them. Don’t I feel ancient? They were the 
men whom you saw at the Exposition. They did not recognize me ; 
but the voice of one 1 knew immediately, and 1 remained incognito 
because their conversation was concerning myself and my affairs. 

Do you think I did wrong to listen, and not let them know who 1 
was? They said the heiress was with a band of Italians, and their 
anxiety was for the heavy ransom that might be required to release 
her. 1 was amazed. What could they mean? Won’t 1 create a 
sensation in court? Am 1 to prove that 1 am myself? I may find 
as little recognition there as did Rip Van Winkle on his return home. 

Pray for me, my dear brother, every day: and write some few lines 
with your well hand. 1 do hope you are improving. 

Yours sincerely. 

Lucile. 

Rome, Georgia, Jan. 28, 1891. 

Dear Lucile,— It was a mistake of mine to encourage you to 
travel alone; I regret very much that I did not send some one with 
you. Write as soon as you get this, and tell me if my uncle can 
accompany you on your return. I have found much pleasure in 
reading your letter. 

“Umph! I wonder if he found any mistakes.” 

I am going to Europe very soon. Can you guess what takes me 
there? 1 may take your advice. 

May success attend yqu in every undertaking, whether of business 
or pleasure. Write, write. 

Yours faithfully, 

Gerald. 

Houston, Miss, Feb., 2, 1891, 

Dear Friend,— How can you go to Europe? Are you not joking? 
I could not sleep for thinking of your traveling with the lame arm 
and foot. When 1 did sleep a little from sheer exhaustion, I dreamed 
you were almost helpless; and that, going to shore, you fell from a 
barge, I awoke crying because you could not swim with that arm 
and foot. I began this letter soon after breakfast, because I wanted 


THE NOVICE. 


247 


to beg you to wait until you are stronger. You think I am super* 
stitious; I know it. Of course, I suspect who will accompany you, 
but 1 think you might have told me. Never mind; 1 may have some 
news for you when you get back home. 

Your sister. 

Lucile, 

Rome, Georgia, Feb. 7, 1891. 

Dear Lucile. — You write so positively about your plans, 1 am 
afraid you have forgotten your promise to be advised by me. Don't 
be induced to barter yourself away on account of flattering promises 
or sworn professions of love. 

“I wonder if he thinks I would marry any one that flatters 
me. He can go on, and take his girl to Europe; and I will 
do just as I please.” She read on. 

I am most anxious for your happiness. 

“Better attend to his own affairs.” 

But few men, if any, can understand and appreciate your delicate, 
sensitive nature. 

“Then I won’t marry at all, but do as those men said: 
turn missionary and bear my own expenses; so that, if I learn 
nothing and accomplish nothing, no one can complain of 
wasting their money on me.” 

The rest of the letter was full of anxiety, and brotherly 
advice that offended Lucile very much. 

“As if I were a child ora — -fool. I believe I won’t answer 
this letter at all. But, then, I can’t offend him; for I really 
1— like him very much.” 

Lucile was fluent in ordinary conversation, but entirely 
ignorant of the language of modern slang; and she manifested 
no desire to understand the few expressions that she heard. 
She knew that society ‘chestnuts’ were not the fruit of a tree, 
and ‘rats’ no kind of animal. Gerald had told her that the 
covert meaning of slang is generally coarse, and that really 
genteel people never use slang under any circumstances. 


248 


THE NOVICE. 


She found enough pure English to express all of her ideas. 
All this gave Gerald less apprehension than her admiration 
for the men of whom she wrote in her letters. 

She finished reading the letter, and sat rolling it over in 
her fingers, as if meditating some important plan. She took 
out writing material and began a letter. 

Houston, Miss., Feb. 12. 1891. 

Dear Brother, — As you have told me so much about yourself, 
and since you will be in Europe for some time. I must be equally 
confiding toward you. The first important fact is, heir No. 2 is as 
handsome as Apollo, and he has such elegant manners. 1 can’t think 
that he would do an unjust act, especially toward me. That uncon- 
nected scrap of conversation, which I heard on the train, may not 
have referred to me after all. Are you recalling the old saying. 
‘Eavesdroppers hear no good of themselves’? 

Everything is so strange here in this quiet little town. My head is 
so completely turned I do not feel quite sure of my identity; 1 wonder 
to myself if 1 have not become the embodiment of some fictitious 
character of whom 1 have read some time ago. 

Much court and as much courting: much law and many handsome 
lawyers. As your loving companion will furnish ample entertain- 
ment on the way, our correspondence need not be an enforced tax 
on your time. Write as often as possible before you leave home. 

Your sister, 

Lucile, 

Lucile formed many conjectures as to the possible influ- 
ence that this letter might have upon Gerald. He insisted 
upon having her full confidence, and continued to withhold 
his own. There was a touch of revenge in the spirit of this 
letter, but she intended it to make a very different impres- 
sion upon him. And, indeed, it did impress him in a very 
different way. 

Rome, Georgia, Feb. 17, 1891, 

Dear Lucile,— Your short, hurried, broken sentences were so 
unlike yourself they almost drove me wild. You must make no 
decisions in your present state of confusion and nervous strain; 


THE HOVICE. 


24 ^ 

iperhaps, the result of exciting court scenes. Come home free from 
:any promises or obligations, and 1 maybe able to advise you in your 
inexperience and immature judgment. 

1 have delayed telling you what I heard at the Exposition, until 1 
-■should find it necessary for you to hear it. Your conjectures about 
my bridal trip were all mistakes. Jim will go with me as a necessary 
attendant; urgent and important business will take me to Europe. 

Write as often as co nvenient, and tell me of the court-room affairs, 
the lawyers, witnesses, etc., all in your versatile style. Tell me how 
you succeeded in proving yourself to be the real heir. 

Lovingly yours, 

Gerald. 

When Lucile had read this letter, she said to herself, “I 
fully expected him to have me come home to be treated for 
ihallucination of the mind, ‘Come free from promises!’ I 
suppose he will tell me whom I must love; as if love came of 
went at our bidding. Does it indeed? 

“ ‘Immature judgment’ ! I may be green, but not the idiot 
he thinks I am. Why in the world didn’t he tell me what 
takes him to Europe? I refer every unimportant decision to 
him, and now I am offended because he chooses to direct 
me in the one grand event of my life. 

“He is so kind to me; and yet I forget that he may lose 
that foot, and have a cork one fixed while he is in Europe, 
Poor fellow! I hope Jim will nurse him well. I wish I had 
asked Dr. Winston about that foot. If Mallie ever breaks 
her engagement on account of that foot, I do know I cannot 
help hating her; as if he had any equal, even if he had but 
one foot. Well, I must write in a different strain next time. 
I shall give him something else to think about besides my 
marrying a cousin and a fortune hunter.” 

Houston, Miss., Feb. 22, 1891. 

Dear Mr. Bradford, — Your distrust has completely disarmed my 
self-confidence. I have become so skeptical that now I shall con- 
sider every suitor as a fortune hunter. 


250 


Tf{E mvicE. 


My new responsibilities as heiress — ^ 

“Which may prove to be a delusion,” she said to herself„ 
with a laugh. 

Will require a‘11 the energy and wisdom that F may be able tO' 
cbmmand, Without my undertaking the management of a husband, 

1 shall devote my spare moments to the study of poFitical economy 
and woman’s rights, in order to fit myself for the management of so- 
large an estate. 

“If I get it,”' she said, smfling. 

Agents may be as unscrupulous' as the marrying class of men.. 
Thanks to you for training me in this line of skepticism. I have a 
Serious notion of investing all 1 may have, except a mere pittance 
for my own frugal needs. The sum invested I shall devote to the 
education of Japanese gifls in this country,— such girls as may wish 
to become missionaries when they return to their native land. I’ 
shall reserve the wealthiest and most beautiful one for you; for, by that 
time, you will have discovered unpardonable faults in every other 
lady you know. 

1 hope you can spare time to write and tell me when you expect 
to leave for Europe, 

Your sister, 

Lucile. 

Rome, Georgia, Feb. 27, 1891, 

Dear Lu'ctLE,— -It seems to me that your self-confidence has been 
armed, instead of disarmed, since you contemplate running your 
affairs without the aid of manly support in either husband or agent. 
The only advice that 1 will now presume to give, will be that you 
invest largely in Louisiana Lottery tickets. Many thanks for the 
Japanese lady, whom you contemplate giving me. The Turks are 
noted for honesty and fidelity; shall I speak for a place in the harem 
of some caliph for you? 

1 will take time to answer every letter you write, whether I am in 
Europe, Asia, Of Africa, 

Yours truly, 

Gerald, 


CHAPTER XXIV, 
Opposite Temperaments. 


1 I j HEN Lucile had finished reading Gerald’s last letter^ 
'^she burst into tears. Her previous letter had wounded 
him too deeply, 

“Was there ever such a temper? He intimated that I 
had no judgment,— not sense enough to manage my own 
affairs; and, when I cut him back, for him to show such 
resentment ! I believe I can’t write to him any more; I 
have a great mind to stay in Mississippi; I never was so 
vexed in my life ! 1 wish now that I had not come. Why 

do people spend so much time hunting up lost property? 
The trouble and worry of getting it overbalances the pleasure 
of possessing it,” 

She laid her head upon the table, and shed tears enough 
to ease her throbbing temples. Then she straightened up to 
reconsider the situation. 

“What could I have written to give such offense? Things 
written give a very different impression from things spoken 
face to face: I ought to have remembered that. When we 
were at home, we have had sharper cuts than these written 
ones; and then we laughed, I remember writing that I would 
have neither husband nor agent to manage my affairs. Did 
that take away his brotherly privilege of helping and advising 
me? If he could have seen how much I laughed while 
writing that letter, he would not have been so vexed. It is 
not what people say, but the manner of saying, that gives 
offense. The features have an unmistakable language, 
which either softens or emphasizes that which is said. No 
wonder men fight duels over a few written or printed lines. 


252 


THE mvrCB. 


Hereafter, I will always weigh my words, no matter to whoms 
1 write. The cut about fickleness was not relished, nor the-* 
Japanese bride offered him; but that was not so bad as a. 
caliph’s harem’. Gerald has said that those of the same; 
temperament are not ccngeniai; but I always understood 
that tO' be a hint fo-r me to avoid falling in love with Dr.- 
Winston, because he was engaged to Inez. I am very sure 
of one thing:' and that is,, some persons of opposite tempera- 
ments often whet their wit by a constant fusilade of cross 
fires. It is true u/e sometimes get a little provoked; then it 
soon wears off, and we are ready for another attack. Men 
are naturally aggressive; women are usually driven to the 
defensive. Men wage war; women are the peacemakers. 
Men make wounds; wonren bind them up. Men analyze 
inanimate objects; women seek their affinities, and form 
conffbinations.’" 

If Lucile had mentioned these contrasts, Gerald would 
have suggested bread-making as one of their combinations. 
The martial spirit arises early; even Jim and Percy delight 
in a combat between kitty and Fido, and Gerald calls it the 
the budding spirit of manhood, Lucile could not easily over- 
come the irritation caused by the perusal of Gerald’s letter. 
She recalled many lively conversations with him. 

“Gerald calls me his unsophisticated sister, which he con- 
siders more polite than to dub me ‘ignoramus’. When I 
consulted him about blending the shades in my embroidery, 
he said, ‘There is an admixture of very incongruous colors.’ 
How scornful I must have looked when I promised to note 
that fact on my tablets, for future reference ! He must 
have thought I was seeking for a compliment. He said, too, 
'Your sonatas are inharmonious discords, which increase the 
tension of the nerves.’ If all of our opinions had coincided, 
how monotonous my life would have been ! Our lines of 


THE NOVICE. 


253 


thought would have run parallel, like the two tracks of a 
railroad. People of the same temperament are always 
parallel: they see alike, hear alike, think alike. Dear me] 
How stupid ! No affinity, no harmonious blending of ideas 1 

“If Gerald is really angry,” said Lucile, who was sitting 
with her elbows on the table, and sheets of paper before her, 
“then I must be a peacemaker. I can’t afford to lose his 
friendship: he is necessary to my success. Risk losing him! 
and that, too, for such a silly thing as giving the last, sharpest 
cut? An apology would only provoke a severe retort, which 
might end worse. ‘Least said, soonest mended.’ I’ll not 
mention his letter, as if I did not care about what he wrote.” 

Houston, Miss., Mar. 4, 1891. 

Dear Gerald,— This court business seems to be a triple affair; and 
if I understand the drift of the whole thing, it may be a quadruple 
before it is finished. About the time 1 entered the convent, a. priest 
made his appearance here, claiming the whole of my father’s estate, 
in the name of the Catholic church. He seems to have been a sus- 
picious character; and, as his papers were not in proper form, the 
case was deferred for further investigation. Finally it was ruled out 
of court. Is “ruled out” correct? I’m unsophisticated, you know. 

Next came Madame Larrone with her claims as the widow; and 
she failed, too; so much for her determination to take the Black 
Veil. Two men are here now as witnesses for some one; perhaps, 
they are to prove that I am under unchangeable vows, and that I will 
never leave the convent. I wish you were here; you could explain 
many things for me. During my finst visits to the courthouse, 
there was such a commingling of Latin phrases and law terms I lost 
the connection of the whole thing, and turned my attention to the 
faces that filled the room. You need not criticise my stupidity; you 
can’t expect much of a novice. I was amazed at the numberless 
types of character represented by those heads and faces. 

Col. Lewis had directed me to remain incognito until there were 
further developments in the case. I wore a voluminous wrap, an 
antiquated hat of rare dimensions, and the goggles that I used on the 
train to keep the cinders out of my eyes. Shall I send you a photo- 
graph of myself in this costume? 


254 


THE NOVICE. 


Where I sat in the gallery, 1 was compelled to fan myself with a 
newspaper to temper the heated air rising from the register below. 

I felt ashamed and wickedly deceitful in my disguise; it did not 
accord with my ideas of open, straightforward business to dress so: 
1 do not like to lie, even in my actions, to carry out any plan. Col. 
Lewis laughed at my scruples, and said I “would not do for a law- 
yer.” Then I began to wonder how anyone as sincere as you are, 
could affect anything that you did not feel. 

An old man who sat near by, seemed inclined to entertain me; or 
perhaps my dress excited his curiosity. After gazing at me for 
awhile, he said, “Madam, do you live about here?” 

“No; from Georgia,” I replied. 

“Umph, humph! From the Goober State.” 

“We raise as many potatoes as goobers, and lots of sorghum.” 

I was alarmed at my last statement. Do we raise sorghum there? 

Loud speaking and cheering, at times interrupted my risky chat: 
I was playing a part entirely new to me. I then gave my full atten- 
tion to the actors below. The lawyers quoted English laws, old 
records, and all such rubbish; but I could not guess what English 
laws had to do with an American girl, nor why old records should 
be overhauled to find the lost heir to an estate. Did those lawyers 
expect to overawe the jury by the vast amount of their learning? 

When my cousin came in, the murmur of applause proved that 
he had the sympathy of these people. A thrill of delight came over 
me when I beheld him, unencumbered with his traveling cap and 
ulster. There was no exultation in his manner, but a touch of sad- 
ness. As soon as 1 saw him, I was prepared to discredit the evidence 
of my own ears, which I received on the train. 

The claims of the Catholic church were brought forward again; 
( the priest, bishops, and his holiness, the Pope, were all mentioned 
^ as if concerned: but all of it fell upon my ears without making any 
impression on my brain. I voted myself as great an ignoramus in 
law matters as in society slang. I almost forgot that I had any in- 
terest in the business. 

I turned to my study of faces and heads, when I was startled by a 
voice: “I have undeniable proof that the heirio the Jerningham estate 
is dead; yes, dead!'' he repeated. 

I sprang to my feet quickly, when the old man who was sitting near 
by, touched me. 


THB NOVICE. 


255 


“Be quiet," said he, ‘‘nobody will be hurt. If they come to blows, 
there'll be no danger to us up here." •• 

There was a call for proofs, when a signal brought in an officer 
and two men. One was a bold, defiant man, so much like Father 
Malin that I shuddered at the sight of him; the other was a pale, 
thin man, with frightened eyes, who clutched the railing where he 
stood. The first man stated, “When Madame Jerningham was 
known to be a rich widow, she was seized by a lawless band and 
carried to Last Island. The ransom they demanded, was delayed; 
and Madame was murdered, and cast into the gulf for safe keeping." 

When the testimony of the other witness was called for, the pale 
man turned a shade paler, and cast an appealing glance at the other, 
while he murmured 'Maffei.' Is that a law term, too? His appeal 
was answered in hoarse tones, and with threatening looks. 

The testimony of the second was given in poor English, mixed 
with scraps of French, Spanish, or Italian, which 1 cannot write. 
The only words that 1 could understand, were Marie and Lola — the 
names of mother and of Madame. 

1 looked at my cousin. The death of Madame was thought to be 
the last stone in his way to success; his placid features bore no sign 
of triumph. Did he fear a possible division with other cousins? 
Surely not. 1 remembered his conversation on the cars; he was 
“willing to divide with the heiress, but not to marry her." 1 am sure 
now that he meant Madame when he said that. One of the lawyers 
said, “He wandered everywhere, followed every possible clue, in 
search of [whom do you think?] his cousin Clare." In Rufe’s 
travels he heard of Madame and her place of concealment. He 
placed detectives along the shore nearest Last Island. Then the 
lawyer said, “He [Rufe] has discharged his duty, and pow this estate 
will be his reward." 

Everything seemed settled. When Col. Lewis arose to make a 
statement, he looked up, and gave me a signal to come down into 
the court-room. When I arose. 1 felt my wrap pulled. 1 turned to see 
who it was, when my old neighbor of the gallery said, “That lawyer 
didn’t mean you; he was beckoning to some one else up here." 

Col. Lewis met me at the foot of the stairs, saying, “Don’t be ner- 
vous; assume dignity for this occasion.” When he introduced me 
as the heiress, 1 dropped the cloak and the hat upon the floor. 1 
was too much dazed to assume the grin of a real actress, who takes 


256 


THE NOVICE. 


the role of heiress upon the stage. I made a slight bow to the Judge, 
the court, and the jury, as 1 would have done at any other introduc- 
tion. I knew that everyone would appreciate simple manners more 
than any affectation. 

The cheering frightened me nearly to death, because I thought 
the people might feel disappointed when I was announced. While 
Col. Lewis was telling something about me, I was wondering what 
1 was to do next, — -to stand or to sit. 1 was not long left in doubt: 
while 1 was looking down, two strong arms suddenly clasped me; 
I was too frightened to conjecture whether it was the sheriff or the 
priest, Malin. The well-remembered voice of my cousin recalled 
me to my senses. Sincerely yours, 

Lucile. 

P. S.— I forgot to say he kissed me before all those people. 

L. 

Rome, Georgia, Mar. 9 , 1891 . 

Dear Lucile, — -Your letter was full of interest, from the Creole 
knaves to the kiss in the grand finale. Your flirtations with the old 
man in the gallery were no more than could be expected from one 
of your age in this fast period. The close of your letter would suit 
admirably for the winding up of some sensuous novel, like the cheap 
trash floating everywhere. It ended with that sensational tableau, 
as if you were loth to change the imagery by adding other news. 

Such scenes may be admissible in private life; but they lose their 
sanctity when enacted before the canaille, who fill a large part of the 
courthouse. Under ordinary circumstances, true love is chary of 
any public demonstration, whether the participants are married or 
single. They are content to know that their love is mutual, without 
publishing the fact to others. That embrace was as unceremonious 
as the fatal clasp of a polar bear. After that, you will not be ex- 
pected at the harem of a caliph; and I shall be released from any 
obligation to take the Japanese girl. 

Yours sincerely, 

Gerald. 

Houston, Miss., Mar. 15 , 1891 . 

Dear Gerald, — What ridiculous conclusions you have drawn from 
my unguarded style of writing. I may not have told you that my 
cousin lost his parents when quite small, and came to live with my 
father. I was an infant at the time, and we grew up like brother 


THE NOVICE. 


257 


and sister. After I left the convent, I was afraid to write to him or 
anyone else, over my real signature. Father Malin had impressed 
upon my mind the certainty of my capture, and the awful punish- 
ment that awaited me, if I ever dared to leave the convent. He 
asserted that friends would be powerless to resist those appointed to 
punish such offenders. 

The kiss and momentary clasp were as pure in sentiment as the 
touch of an evening breeze. I thought only of the recognition: he, 
of the lost, who was found at last. The friends of my father pressed 
around, and tears glistened on their sympathetic faces. The news 
flew even to the old servants scattered about town. There was 
a commotion about the door; the crowd made way for some ex- 
slaves and their children. When Viney, the nurse, saw me, she 
cried out, “Lawzee, mussy ! De dead done come to life !” and she 
dropped down on the floor, trembling. The others stared as if they 
had seen an apparition. Then aunt Milly came up smiling, and 
said, “Git up, Viney: taint no sperit.’’ 

. “Don’t you see it’s Miss Clare, you set o’ gumps?’’ said Sam. 

“Taint you. Miss Clare, is it?’’ said Fanny, the housemaid, while 
she noted my increased height with pleased wonder. The planta- 
tion hands were still busy in the fields, awaiting the decisions of 
the court to know who would be master of the premises where 
they all still lived, I needed the presence of my brother Gerald to 
make my happiness complete. 

Yours sincerely, 

Lucile. 

In that mail came another letter from the same place. 

Houston, Miss., Mar. 15 , 1891 . 

Dear Gerald, — -Rare times in court; Miss Jerningham is now an 
heiress. I find in her a combination of beauty, mind, and wealth. 
She is a prize. Many will court her favor; some seek her money as 
well as herself. Money is not objectionable in these times, when 
it takes so much to fill a wife’s wardrobe satisfactorily. If you wish 
to bid, speak in time. Yours, 

M. Lewis. 

Gerald frowned and bit his lip in anger, as he muttered, 
“As if I would woo her for her money! I would hate my- 
self for such a rascally act. Does he take me for a villam? 


258 


THE NOVICE. 


Does he suppose that 1 wish to act the showman, in the ex- 
hibition of a wife’s plunder? Could I feel sure of a woman’s 
love, when she could look on the splendor of her home, and 
say, ‘All this is mine, but you may use it’? 

“What would be the advantage to me, if I could lower 
myself to accept such a position? What, more can the rich 
eat than one whose appetite is satisfied with plainer food? 
What more can he wear, if less money would clothe him 
comfortably? If failure should come to me, could I bear 
the reproaches of an angry wife? No!'' 

The fist of Gerald came down heavily, upon the table 
before him, to emphasize that negative. 

The man who sells his freedom for a rich wife, is forever 
her cringing subject. The power that wealth gives, renders 
most women absurdly proud and vindictive. Woman loves 
most where she clings for support: man was born to rule; 
woman was formed to yield, to cling, and to love. 

The oak and the ivy are comparisons that will never grow 
threadbare. Unless deformed by sin, man’s head stretches 
heavenward like the treetop; his arms, like sheltering 
branches, protect and defend those who nestle about him. 
Woman, like the ivy, sends out tendrils of affection and 
sympathy, and clasps those sheltering limbs when shattered 
by the rude blasts of life. Neither can assume the position 
of the other successfully. The effeminate man and the 
masculine woman are each abominable. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

The Afternoon Tea. 

T he doorbell of the Bradford mansion rang, announcing 
the arrival of several ladies for the afternoon tea. 

The weather, the town topics, and the accumulated gossip 
arose in interest while they imbibed the fragrant amber fluid 
from diminutive, fancy cups; but the delicacies before them 
were scarcely noticed and sparsely eaten, for the hostess had 
thrown into their midst a bombshell, whose explosion killed 
every other interest for the moment. The invisible shell 
was the announcement, “Lucile is a grand hairess!” 

“V/hat! Who? Indeed! When? Where? How?” 
These interrogatives and exclamations showed the power 
of the dynamo that electrified the party. 

“Is she married?” 

“Not married.” 

Then Mrs. Bradford communicated all the facts that she 
had diligently picked from Gerald by sundry questions, which 
could not be evaded. 

“What a sensation this news will produce 1” 

“What a belle she will be, in spite of her red hair !” 
“Now, don’t say said Inez, “her hair is light chestnut, 
with a slight tinge of gold where the sunlight falls upon it.” 
“Paint it as you will, Inez, people will still call it redd' 
“She is prudently quiet; perhaps she lacks cultivation.” 
“Mr. Bradford is her champion; he may advise her to be 
silent in order to hide her ignorance.” 

“Don’t you remember how we laughed when she asked 
us what we meant by ‘rats’, and ‘chestnuts’?” 

“And what a ridiculous explanation Mallie gavel” 


THE NOVICE. 


2 60 

“You’ll have to hold up on your criticisms, and pay your 
best respects to this divine phenix, now that she has risen.” 

“Ralph Winston grows enthusiastic over her wit and in- 
telligence.” 

“Perhaps he spoke ironically.” 

“Ralph Winston ironical? The idea !” screamed one. 

“Ralph cannot be anything but the straightforward, good 
fellow that he has always been.” 

“No; he means all that he says: no deception about him.” 

“No irony, at least. Now, Mrs. Bradford, tell us how it 
is about this girl. Is she verdant or a fool?” 

“Why, neither, I am sure. She is educated, and has 
read a great deal for a young girl; but she has spent most 
of her time at college or in a convent.” 

“Not a society girl. Umph, humph! That accounts for 
hex naiueie, over which the men rave.” 

“Gerald says that it’s a pity all girls are not kept out of 
society until their consciences are fully developed.” 

“Dear me 1 What a fine set of prudes we all would be !” 

“That would break up all the flirtations, which give zest 
to society.” 

“Many broken-hearted maidens would fade out of life.” 

“Slain in the unequal contest with the male flirts?” 

“Yes; when ushered into society, how awkward we would 
be without any training.” 

“Not know the meaning of ‘chestnuts’ and ‘rats’. Ha, ha!” 

“Imagine a party of us under this new regime; all in a row 
around the wall, where we would blush, simper, and gnaw 
our handkerchiefs.” 

“Will this Miss Jerningham return and settle here?” 

“No one knows what she may do.” 

“Mr. Bradford may take a deeper interest in her now.” 

“Such a remark makes him wrathy,” said Mrs. Bradford. 


THB NO VrCE. 


261 


“'Why, 1 thought he was much attached to her.” 

"‘He says he is too busy to worry with a wife.” 

"“Mercy! What a bear! A wife to worry with.” 

“I thought men never refused to handle anyone’s money.” 

“No; they love the chinking of gold, even when it belongs 
to some one else: it is music to them.” 

“Perhaps, he knows that she is engaged to one of those 
theater folks with whom she traveled.” 

“That report was all a mistake; she never was with any 
troupe,” said Mrs. Bradford, frowning slightly. 

There was a stretching of eyes, side-glances, curled lips, 
and the various contortions of features so often observed in 
modern society girls. Each one there remembered Mrs. 
Bradford was the very one that hinted she had strayed from 
some wandering troupe. The lady scarcely remembered 
making the statement. 

Our opinions should be weighed before giving them to 
others. It would save us from future mortification when 
compelled to acknowledge that we had misrepresented some 
one, whom we found later to be worthy of a higher opinion. 
Our opinions should remain private property if detrimental 
to anyone. Abuse of the absent lowers the abuser in the 
estimation of the hearers. It destroys the esteem and con- 
fidence that previously existed. 

These gossips continued their ill-natured dissection of the 
new ‘heiress’. 

“I, for one, can predict how she will dress,” said Mallie 
Raymond. 

“These mushroom aristocrats who grow rich in a night, 
display flashy dresses and excessive ornaments.” 

“I think you are, for once, mistaken;'' snapped Mrs. Brad- 
ford scornfully, “I have offered her gifts of jewelry, which 
she refused with the excuse that she didn’t wear ornaments.’' 


262 


THE NOVICE. 


“That is no proof of what she will do now;” said Mallie, 
“she refused your gift because she is as proud as Lucifer. 
Any one with a grain of sense can tell that she proud.” 

“The cut of her lips marks the height of her pride.” 

“Her lips are thin,” said Inez, “and that is a sign of a fine 
organization.” 

“Yes; Inez will always side with Dr. Winston, whether 
right or wrong.” 

“He is always right: he never speaks ill of anyone.” 

“Well, Inez, she talks more to Dr. Winston than to anyone 
else: now look to your laurels.” 

“She may capture him yet. I have heard the Doctor is 
close in a trade; if so, he loves money like the rest of us.” 

“I think he will not ask the advice of anyone here, when 
he makes up his mind to address her.” 

“You are the only one interested.” 

“That wealth may give her the courage to play a high 
game for the impenetrable Mr. Bradford.” 

The departing sun was a tacit signal for the dispersion of 
the merry tea-drinkers. Each bore away the startling news, 
which, like California beer, lost none of its dimensions or 
sparkling effervescence when drawn out, but reproduced 
itself for every demand. 

The menial service of former times was rapidly fading 
from memory in the expected transformation that wealth 
usually produces. 

None but the bitterly envious ever dared whisper again 
of the innocent ride, which busybodies had magnified into 
a crime. 

Mrs. Bradford had failed in all her schemes of playing the 
agreeable to her brother-in-law; so now she found new ma- 
terial for a plan of a very different kind. She was about to 
take the initial steps in carrying out her design. 


THE NOVICE. 


263 


”If,” thought she, “Lucile loves Percy as much as she 
seems to do, there is no telling the direction her generosity 
may take, nor how much she may bestow upon him. 

“Gerald will neglect no part of his education, but his rigid 
notions of economy may cramp the boy into actual stingi- 
ness. Percy wanted to go with the other boys to the races, 
when Gerald said to him positively, ‘No; you cannot go.’ As 
for me, his mother, I was allowed no voice in the matter; 
even his father never thwarted me as much as Gerald does. 

“Poor dependent me ! I have all this to bear, because his 
brother did not leave me even a simple competence. When 
I wish a handsome silk, I have to pet and coax him ever so 
long. Even then, he says sternly, ‘What do you want?’ He 
often says this before I have asked for a single thing. 
Won’t his wife have a lovely time? I think he would dress 
her in homespun, and tell her to ‘stay at home; that’s the 
place for a woman.’ I am glad he didn’t fall in love with me. 

“Lucile is very different: she may take a notion to send 
Percy to Europe for a year or two, and — I will play the incon- 
solable mamma, who cannot be separated from her boy. I 
will ask Gerald in a humble way to give me a small sum; 
and I will propose to go to Europe, and live in moderate style 
in order to be with my boy. Lucile’s compassionate interest 
will be forestalled by pitiable letters, and her generosity will 
be aroused until she sends a bountiful supply of money to 
the boy and myself. Then, there is no telling how much 
more may be accomplished by my still unfaded charms. 

Some nobleman may, by chance, find me in some public 
library, where he will seek an introduction on the spot, and 
my wits may be trusted to accomplish the rest.” 

Mrs. Bradford sat gazing into the grate, filled with red 
coals, with as much interest as if she could outline the 
future for these many years. “It is strange,” said she to 


264 


THE NOVICE. 


herself, “that bachelor uncle never comes to see us. When 
he wants to consult his nephew, an urgent telegram hurries 
Gerald away from home. I fully expected him to visit 
Gerald when he was suffering with those severe wounds. It 
seems to me that in ten years one would not only forgive an 
offense, but forget it entirely; I am sure I would. I did not 
intend to trifle with his nephew; I merely humored his boy- 
ish fancy for me: I never regretted marrying him after losing 
the affection of his uncle. But the loss of that first love 
was terrible to me at that time. It will not do to trifle with 
a good man: he will cease to love as soon as he loses confi- 
dence in his beloved. If I could only see him, and let him 
know that I am a better woman now ! I had rather have 
his love than that of the richest nobleman anywhere. Ger- 
ald expects him to accompany Lucile on her return. Will he 
not stop over to see us?” Mrs. Bradford remembered that 
no letters had passed between Lucile and herself, and she 
hastened to perform a neglected duly. 

Rome, Georgia, Mar. 18, 1891. 

My dear Lucile. — As you know that my time is usually filled up 
with several engagements ahead, you are prepared to excuse the 
delay in writing to you. You have no idea how much we missed 
you after you left. I never realized how dependent I was until you 
were gone. 1 never feel satisfied with my toilet, nor the set of my 
dress; because I have not your skillful fingers to remodel an ill-fit, 
nor your taste in arranging graceful curves in the drapery. You 
had become both sister and companion to me; there has never been 
much effervescing gush about my love, even for those dearest to me. 

I may never have expressed much affection for you, because I never 
knew how much I loved you before. 

Poor Percy has been terribly woe-begone; he cries over his lessons, 
because he knows that I have no time to fool with him; if I did have 
the time, he would find in me a poor substitute for a teacher. I do 
not see why I am not more jealous of you than I am; for his love 
and devotion to you is something wonderful. 


THB NOVICE, 


2b5 


Do write immediately, and tell me how that lawsuit terminated^ 
!f you lose it, what matter? Come and live with us; we shall be 
•delighted. Many friends inquire about you. Leave your case with 
the lawyers, and come home. Gerald goes to Europe very soon, and 
Jim will go with him. Gerald asked Percy if he wanted to go, and 
•he said he bad rather go to see you. Percy sends many kisses. 

Lovingly yours, 

Mary Bradford, 

Lucile had not the slightest suspicion that Mrs, Bradford 
had merely pretended to be ignorant with regard to the con- 
clusion of that lawsuit. She said to herself, Gerald did 
not think the information of sufficient importance to tell 
Mrs. Bradford. He may be very busy making preparations 
to leave for Europe, I wonder what takes him across the 
ocean, I am dreadfully afraid that foot will have to come 
off. It seems to me it might be done in this country, where 
he could be nursed by his friends. It maybe very long before 
we can know the result. Poor Gerald ! I do wish I could 
;get a letter from him; that would be some comfort,” 

A few hours later the desired missive came, 

Rome, Georgia, Mar, 25, 1891. 

Dear Lugile, — Your letters are a refreshing solace during your 
Interminable absence. There is not a bo-ok I open that does not bear 
some impress of your personality. 

Lucile burst into a merry peal of laughter, and said, 
"‘Umph! I must have had sooty fingers; of course, he 
-alludes to the pencil marks, which refer to our discussions at 
some time previous,” She turned to the letter and read on, 

I have seen but few friends since you left; Miss Mallie Raymond 
was the first who called, Mrs, Bradford brought her into the library, 
where I was temporarily domiciled, I have not your fluent style of 
description, but 1 can tell you the impression she made on my mind. 

She wore a jacket of some color not in the prismatic list, therefore 
indescribable: but the garment was bordered with white fur, tipped 
with salmon (I mean the color of the fish); it was flashy enough to 


266 


THE NOVICE: 


attract attention a nnile off. The effect upon her co.nriplexfon was*- 
deplorable. The saffron shade reflected upon her features gave her 
the appearance of a live nsummy. In your nev/ role of heiress, be 
sure to select such colors as will soften and tone down any excess 
of blushes. I have the authority of Ruskin on this point. 

“The idea!” said Lucile, “as if I did not know how to- 
dress becomingly, I suppose his wife, if he ever conde- 
scends to marry, will meekly submit to his dictation.” 

The next visitor was Miss Bland. Her yellow locks bore the tinge 
of hemp strands, by the side of the sulphur-colored blossoms on her 
hat or bonnet. I did not have the opportunity of consulting a mil- 
Hner about the name. 

You have complained of my short letters, because I stopped when 
I had nothing more to write. As a return for your last, newsy 
letter, I will try my pen on fashions; indeed, I have had some expe- 
rience as a modiste since you left. 

Mary comes in for me to criticise her accumulation of folds, puffs, 
and laces, climaxed' by a feathery, flowered topknot, which she 
insists upon calling a bonnet; but it is not at all like that affair of 
Miss Bland. I informed her that blue roses were a humbug, unless 
she pinned some bumblebees on them to carry out the deception, 
1 have not divined whether Miss Mallie Raymond will think it her 
Christian duty to marry a man with a cork foot. 

She dropped the letter in her lap, and wept. 

Lucile, you must direct your next letter to Calais, France. You 
will find the full address on the card inclosed. Write me long letters. 
If you write immediately, I shall receive it as soon as I arrive there. 
How much I wish you could take this trip across the ocean ! Then 
our little contentions would break the monotony of floating clouds, 
rolling waves, and flapping sails. 

Yours sincerely, 

Gerald, 

Lucile sat with the letter in her hand, pondering over every 
sentence, “He will lose that foot, and be among unfeeling 
strangers; probably have nurses whq^ cannot understand a 
word he says unless he speaks French,, But his sufferings, 
how can 1 bear the thought? What am I saying? What 


THE NOVICE. 


267 


SI goose I am ! Anyone might think I was in love with him. 
Well, he is such a kind, dear, good, sympathetic brother to 
me, I ought to love him some in return. He wanted me 
to take this trip to afford him some break in the monoiony. 
How selfish! I think all men may be selfish naturally; at 
least, more so than women. Well, it is all as it should be. 
We are to be ministers and comforters to those that need us, 

“I know now why he did not take Mallie with him: he 
wanted the amputation and all that to be over before his 
marriage. Farewell to the Pauper Home and the Work- 
house if he marries her! Her wardrobe will cut his income 
to a mere pittance. I would like to contribute of my funds 
to those charities, but Gerald would snub me at the slightest 
hint of such a thing. There are others that need help more 
than his proteges. Many poor children are beyond the reach 
of the public schools; I must form some plan to help them.” 

Houston, Miss., April 5, 1891. 

Dear Gerald, — An old will of Col. Jerningham provides for that 
handsome cousin, and I have advised her not to select him as her 
guardian. Any complication of interests generally results in some 
serious difficulties. The nearer the kinship, the more bitter the 
strife between the parties. She insists upon forcing the responsibility 
on me. Don’t be jealous; we are not engaged 

Well, I have decided to turn the whole business, guardianship 
and all, over upon your shoulders. The estate will pay largely, 
even at usual rates. Now is y onr chance \i you ever intend to marry. 
1 hope you are not bound by any previous arrangement with some 
other lady. Success to you, old fellow. 

Sincerely yours, 

M. Lewis. 

Gerald’s wrath found vent in this reply: — 

Rome, Georgia, April 10, 1891. 

Dear Uncle, — As you are selected, you should accept that guard- 
ianship; but, if it be possible for you to do so, receive it nominally, 
and 1 will be the silent partner or agent. Upon no other condition, 


les 


THE NOVICE. 


vill 1 be bothered with that business. Women are too suspfcfoas 
and too exacting;. I will leave the responsibility virtually upon you- 

Yours truly, 

Gerald. 

When Gerald finished the letter, the frown had not left 
his face. His soliloquy was as fll-natured as the frown. 

“Why in the thunder didn’t she carry out her threat to- 
manage her estate herself? But, then, she is a mere child 
in business matters; her threat means nothing. 

“She didn’t mention me as guardian, and now it is forced 
upon me. She shall not know that 1 have anything to do 
with it, I couldn’t refuse to take it; my uncle is pressed 
nearly to death with work. He has been like a father or 
brother to -me; he has thrown a large practice into my hands, 
and now my gratitude forbids me to withhold my help in 
this emergency. To refuse, too, through a bit of spite or 
revenge toward such a girl ! I am ashamed of my tempta- 
tion to do a very silly deed. The stool of repentance is 
like the dunce-block in its manner of correction. I will not 
take a cent of pay, if I squander all I have in managing it. 

“And she may be induced to marry that cousin yet; first 
cousin, too. No; she m.ust not make that mistake. Same 
temperament; it won’t do: such marriages are never happy. 
She will expect perfection in a husband, and disappointment 
will break her heart. She is so trusting; no, sister, I will 
not be known as your guardian, but I will keep my promise 
to act as your brother. There is no telling about the choice 
of a girl; some of the wisest of them make a wide mistake 
in marriage. She will have no one but me to advise her; 
and she is always non-committal, provokingly reticent, or 
ridiculously absurd, in all her expressions about marriage.” 


CHAPTER XXVL 
The Guardian. 


\ W ELL, Miss Jerningham, I have decided to accept the 
great responsibility of guardian. The estate will be a 
heavy tax upon a man of my profession, but that is nothing 
compared with the rest of the care and solicitude. Oh, me I 
a young lady to manage !” 

He clasped his hands, and assumed a bewildered air. 

“Do guardians control their wards?” 

“Of course, they do. They must not allow them to marry 
spendthrifts, drunkards, or avaricious fortune hunters/' 

“I may not marry at all.” 

“Worse than ever, by far. I was expecting to marry you 
off to get rid of the responsibility.” 

“Will not the fee, wages, or whatever you call the pay* 
reward you for all the trouble and loss of time?” 

“But an old maid! You can’t stay young forever. Old 
maids are exacting, contentious, cross, domineering — ” 

“Hold on! I may prove to be an exception.” 

“Let me tell you. You are young, and you need not cling 
to any remembrance of a first love: it is nonsense.” 

“I haven’t acknowledged any love; first, second, or third.” 

“No matter; women rarely decline matrimony unless they 
have endured some previous disappointment.” 

Lucile blushed, and bit her lip in vexation. This man was 
carrying his quizzing too far. She looked up to give him 
a sharp retort, but she was surprised to see the grave face 
of Col. Lewis. He answered her look. “1 was once head- 
strong, unforgiving, and skeptical of all women. Yes; 1 was 
unhappy, and for what? Only a silly mistake of mine.” 


270 


THE NOVICE, 


“You fell in love with a coquette?” 

“Worse than that: I expected perfection; the first silly 
fault I discovered, I flew the track as if all women were 
just as untrue/’ 

“Had you no faults?” 

“Bless me ! what close cuts you give ! Have you found 
any faults?” 

“I don’t expect perfection in anyone; I have faults myself.’' 

“She was a coquette; she loved admiration and sought it.’' 

“Ah! Now I know: the fault was your own; you were 
j'ealous, and perhaps she was only playful.” 

“Play with human hearts?” 

The eyes of the Colonel widened, and his hands flew up 
to stress his horror, 

“My little girl, the crime is equal to murder! Her other 
victims jeered me about their success with her.” 

The man’s face became gray and stern, as if he had 
revived an old score, 

“Your memory is an enemy to your peace; forgive and 
forget.” 

“I think I have forgiven the woman, but it is hard to for- 
get her dealings with another. She won the affections of a 
nephew; I gave her up for his sake, though I believed she 
loved me best.” 

“Indeed! How did she bear the broken engagement?” 

“She grieved, made every possible excuse, and refused to 
marry the boy, who was only twenty years old.” 

“What induced her to marry him at last?” 

“I convinced her that she ought to atone for her folly by 
fulfilling her promise to marry him.” 

“I suppose you thought it best for only one to suffer.” 

“The deceiver deserved to suffer; he did no wrong.” 

“Her pretended love was unequal to his genuine affection.” 


r//£ 'NOVICE. 


2 ^ 7 1 


'^‘His devotion soon won her love.” 

“It was*not right; he was imposed upon. How could you 
take part in such deception?” 

The eyes of Lucile flashed at the Idea of such a marriage. 

“They were happy; but life was a failure, nevertheless. 
They were like foolish children: neither had any economy; 
all his efforts to form business habits were thwarted by her 
demands upon his purse and his time.” 

“Upon his time? How was that?” 

“She would interfere with his medical studies, by teasing 
him to remain at home when he ought to have been in his 
office. She wanted him to read with her the latest novel.” 

“Ah! That is it; you are opposed to novels.” 

“No; they are a diversion when one is overworked; such 
reading draws the tired mind from all the disturbing elements 
of business.” 

“Humorous sketches, for instance.” 

“The thrill which causes a laugh is a tonic, but the mind 
soon reverts to its cares again.” 

“If you had married her, you might have been unhappy.” 

“The result would have been different: I loved her as a 
pet; she could not have ruled me by her influence.” 

“Had you hindered her plans, she might have rebelled.” 

“No; Mary was gay and thoughtless. When there was a 
grand ball, he neglected important cases to attend her.” 

“And that injured his practice?” 

“Yes; he got discouraged, his health failed, and he died.” 

They were silent. Lucile was considering the character 
of this unselfish man, who had given his beloved to another. 
Perhaps God would reward him for that act: life might have 
much in store for him yet. 

Lucile was the first to break the silence by asking, “Col. 
Lewis, why not marry her now?” 


272 


THE NOVICE. 


“My young friend, who told you anything about it?” said 
Col. Lewis, springing to his feet, 

“You told ms,” said she, smiling at his earnestness. 

“It has been ten years; don’t you see the frost on my locks? 
She may have changed. I thought you might know.” 

“Col. Lewis, did you love your motherless when her locks 
became silvered over?” 

“Ah, no ! I loved her more; and I love that woman yet,” 
he said softly. 

“She is still very handsome.” 

“More lovely; the giddy spirit of her youth has mellowed 
into cheerful womanhood.” 

“She was not the sort of woman to die of a broken heart.’' 

“No; Mary could always adapt herself to circumstances. 
If she had moped around, I would have esteemed her less.’' 

“Did she really love her husband?” 

“Yes; I think his devotion won her affection. She was as 
merry as a cricket, and often thanked me for persuading 
her to marry him.” 

“She ever speaks of the dead with tenderness and sorrow.’' 

“Mary had her faults, and who has not? I am far from 
perfection myself. I could have trained her out of all levity 
and loose notions of integrity. Some girls who really want 
to be good, tell fibs: it is a habit.” 

“You speak confidently of your ability to train her. If 
she had loved you, she would have tried to please you.” 

“Confidence, you know, leads to success. No man ever 
rises higher in the estimation of others than the plane where 
he thinks himself standing, whether it be high or low.” 

“Does not lack of confidence sometimes hinder genius?” 

“Genius!’^ exclaimed Col. Lewis, bringing his fist down so 
heavily and unexpectedly that Lucile was startled. 

“How nervous you are 1” said he. 


THE NOVICE. 


273 


Lucile was reminded of the stroke of another fist, the 
frowning face above it, and her threatened retreat. 

“Genius,” continued the Colonel, “is only wisdom and 
patience, firmly planted on a base of moral courage.” 

“Courage forces up to view the genuine ego, clothed with 
learning.” 

“You are full of poetic ideas; why don’t you write poetry?” 

“I am waiting for the resurrection of the ego.'' 

“Love is the usual stimulus that brings out poetry.” 

“Then you must have written volumes in those ten years.” 

“Did Mary ever speak of me?” 

“Not to me; and when she spoke to Mr. Bradford about 
you, there seemed to be some restraint between them.” 

“Gerald was opposed to her marriage, and I think he 
never forgave me for my part in the affair.” 

“Would he object to your marriage with her now?” 

“Why should he? He neglected his own prospects to 
take care of her and the boy.” 

“Did he break any engagement to take care of them?” 

Lucile could not ask this question carelessly, nor could 
she resist the telltale blushes. The Colonel gave her a close 
look before he answered, “No; it was rumored that Gerald 
and Mary would marry as soon as she laid off her mourning, 
but they did not.” 

“I do not think he will marry her now.” 

“Whom then?” said he, turning quickly to scan her face. 

“Possibly,” said Lucile slowly, “Miss Mallie Raymond; 
their engagement was rumored before the accident." 

“Accident? Would she cast him overboard for that? 
If so, it is fortunate they delayed the marriage.” 

Lucile did not care to continue a discussion that created 
questions in her own mind, and she hastened to say to him, 
“Mrs. Bradford has a cheerful disposition. I remember a 


274 


THE NOVICE. 


subdued pathos in her voice when she asked if Mr. Bradford 
expected you to visit him when he was wounded.” 

“Could you not be my advocate with her?” 

“Love affairs are for two; the third party has too much 
power for evil as well as for good.” 

“Where did you learn the power of the third party?” 

“1 suppose 1 formed my opinions from novelists, whose 
intriguers are always the third party, — the mutual friend.” 

“She may be changed.” 

“1 think you can win her yet.” 

“It is worth the attempt.” 

“The sacrifice of your happiness for that of another, may 
bring the reward you desire, though after many years,” 

“Could I expect any reward?” 

“One thing you have not mentioned.” 

“Well?” 

“Have you asked God*to direct you in this?” 

“Well, no; I think he is our friend,” 

“Do you think that is sufficient? ‘What things soever 
ye desire — ” ’ 

“Yes; I know the quotation, and I will consider it.” 
****** 

The next morning Col. Lewis called to state that he would 
leave for home that afternoon. 

“I have done all that was possible for you. I have 
itemized all of the property and all of the income. By the 
aid of your father’s friends, I have reappointed such agents 
and overseers and made such investments, as were deemed 
best. Now, the next thing is to select the husband.” 

“Mercy! that will take more time than all the business.” 

“How do you know I have not already found the man?” 

“He may be a fortune hunter.” 


THE NOVICE. 


275 


Col. Lewis sprang to his feet, rubbing his hands as usual. 

“The last nnan in the world to marry for money: he is the 
soul of honor; kind, generous, tender, affectionate, lovable, 
considerate, and — er— what else could you demand?” 

“He is too good; he would find too many faults in me.” 

“Bless me ! what a woman ! You are determined not to 
be pleased. Then, tell me, are you going to Georgia?” 

“No; my relatives insist upon my remaining here.” 

“What! Give up Georgia?” 

“No, no; I love the State, and I shall go later; but I have 
some requests to make before you leave.” 

“Anything, if it be the ‘half of my kingdom.’ ” 

“I am not noble Esther, deserving the half of a kingdom; 
or the daughter of Herodias, requesting a gory head.” 

“Well, anything; even if it be that nephew of mine.” 

He watched her closely when he said this; he had struck 
a tender chord. 

“He is my brother by adoption.” 

“Then he is the very one to be your guardian. I tell you, 
there is not a more honest, unselfish man existing.” 

“My requests will explain why I did not select him; then 
his health.” 

“Tut, tut I If he had no arm at all, he would manage it 
better than anyone else with a dozen arms.” 

“I know his gifts, his power, his worth — ” 

“You will never find his equal.” 

“I cannot marry him, even to please you; for the very good 
reason that he has never hinted a proposal.” 

“Ah! That, indeed?” 

“He has alluded to other preferences.” 

“Why, he has less sense than I supposed.” 

“Don’t, I implore you, ever mention such a thing to him,” 

“You want no third party in your affairs.” 


276 


THE NOVICE. 


“His affair, not mine.” 

“What are those requests to which you alluded?” 

“I wish one-fourth of the interest that accumulates on 
the estate to be invested for the education of a Japanese 
girl in some college of the United States.” 

“Whew ! it will take that much to furnish you with hats.” 

“Then 1 will wear a cap;, one-half of that interest must be 
sent regularly to the manager of the Pauper Home and the 
Workhouse for the Friendless.” 

“Who is the agent for those charities?” 

“It is the private enterprise of a benevolent incognito.” 

“Is Mr. Incognito afraid his left hand will know what his 
right hand is doing?” 

Lucile laughed, but did not explain. 

“I understand: your plan is to scare off fortune hunters; 
but some men fear that rich girls may become domineering 
women after marriage.” 

“Yes; men delight in their crown of authority. Do you 
think a husband ought to have absolute control of a wife’s 
property?” 

“A woman ought to have a marriage contract: it would be 
a protection against the willful spendthrift, the lax-handed 
drunkard, and the gambler.” 

“I almost regret gaining my lawsuit.” 

“You will have a husband to bear the burden of cares.” 

“It is not the burden that troubles me; but a knowledge 
of selfish people has changed me from a trusting girl to a 
suspicious woman.” 

“You may marry an honorable man whom you can trust.” 

“I know that such men exist, but I may not marry at all. 
Can’t I reserve the last fourth of that interest for old age, 
and go forth as a teacher? I think the schoolroom is the 
loveliest part of God’s vineyard.” 


THE NOVICE. 


277 


’‘Little enthusiast, how you fly to wild conclusions!’' 

“Teaching and preaching are joint forces in the Master’s 
kingdonri on earth. The teacher marshals the children into 
line, and leads them gently on until their eager minds can 
grasp the golden links that fall from the minister’s lips.” 

“Eager and grasp are forcible terms, but the teacher 
must be endued with the divine inflatus necessary.” 

“You mean enthusiasm; there is no success in any line 
of duty without it.” 

“Yet some teachers have as little conscience about the 
blending of moral with mental work, as a horse in a tread- 
mill. On, on he plods, driven by necessity, utterly regardless 
as to whether the substance he works, be a mass of mud or 
a human soul. His reward is rest and food; so is that of 
the heartless teacher. We are all teachers: everyone who 
listens to our voice receives some impression. Is it a shock 
that causes them to waver between good and evil? Is it an 
alluring plea for vice, which gives them the courage to sink 
lower?” 

The Colonel’s voice was solemn, and his extended hand ‘ 
sank lower, lower; then, raising both hands, he said, “Or is 
it the beautiful story of God’s love and the ransom? How 
many have we elevated? How many cast down?” 

Both felt as if the Master dictated these questions. 

Days lengthened into weeks, and still Lucile remained 
among her Western friends. There was as much novelty 
for her as if she had visited another continent. There was 
some degree of reserve and nonchalance among these 
people, which gave them an air of superiority. The manly 
dignity and womanly vivacity marked their noble ancestors, 
who were English colonists and French Huguenots. These 
tall people were as different from the short Dutch of the 
North as were their forefathers. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 
The Debut. 


^ ERALD escaped the perils of the deep, without even the 
N disagreeable seasickness. The seagulls and porpoises 
had ceased to amuse Jim Benson long before he saw land 
again. Passing ships marked the only episodes by the way; 
the first line of shore that became visible afforded the boy 
as much joy as the Western shore did the doubting sailors, 
when Columbus planted his standard on this continent. 

Gerald was very anxious to receive certain letters, which 
were to precede him there. Lucile promised to write every 
few days, without waiting for answers; she intended writing 
long letters, which would be a complete journal of all she 
saw while in Mississippi. She expected Mrs. Bradford and 
Mallie Raymond to give all the home news, which she 
thought would, after all, be most desired by him. 

Lucile was much troubled about Gerald. She was con- 
jecturing whether French surgeons would handle more ten- 
derly, or cut — she shuddered- — more skillfully than American 
surgeons. If they were careless, he might die. Her head 
drooped upon her hand a moment, then she rallied and said, 
“What am I doing? That is not faith: I must pray for him, 
and leave it all to God’s tender mercy. I would have gone 
with him if he had asked me. He may feel slighted about 
that law business; he snubs me mercilessly. Young man, 
we shall be even yet; my next will be a poser.” 

Aberdeen, Miss., April 15, 1891. 

Dear Mr. Bradford, — The friends of my parents, who live here, 
had invited me to make them a visit. I must be very ungrateful, for 
1 was strongly tempted to return to Georgia when your handsome 
uncle came to bid me good-bye. 


THE NOVICE. 


279 


Since he left, I have been sitting here alone, dreaming over the 
many pleasant hours we have spent together. What a charm there 
is about him ! So wise, so noble, yet so gentle ! Every sentiment 
he uttered, seemed to elevate him far above the plane of ordinary 
men. He entertained me with snatches of romance from his own 
real life. Then he confided to me his plans for future life, and his 
wishes with regard to me. Of course, 1 cannot tell you all that; and 
if I have made any mistake, I do not know how to retreat. 

A grand reception was given me by my mother’s friend, Mrs Lee: 
and a host of interested friends held me in council to consider 
a suitable style of dress for me on that occasion. Some suggested 
silk velvet; some one kind of silk, and some another kind. Many 
goods of various colors and textures, extravagant laces and glitter- 
ing gems, were suggested. I was so headstrong as to refuse them all. 

Those fabrics would enhance the beauty of some superbly hand- 
some lady, while their luster and elegance would render me still 
more insignificant. I was decided in my selection of soft, fine mull, 
and delicate laces with visible sleeves. A novice, like me, could 
not manage a court train; and, indeed, any kind of semi-train might 
endanger the equilibrium of my escort as well as myself. 

Mrs. Lee found no objection to my simple attire. Perhaps she 
anticipated the effect of novelty in this apparel, when contrasted 
with the abundance of lustrous sil'xs, rich velvets, and regal jewels. 

The wealth of North Mississippi was represented by the Sykes. 
Strongs, Saunders, Whitfields, and a host of others, who frequently 
spend their winters in New Orleans, and bring back some of the 
reflected splendor of that gay, half-French metropolis. 

The grounds about this elegant home were incomparably charming, 
being replete with magnolias, oleanders, bananas, agaves, and gro- 
tesque cacti. Here and there appeared fountains, with their curving 
jets and feathery spray, while at their base the water hyacinth floated 
and bloomed. 

If these people were shocked at any ignorance or akwardness in 
me, they were too polite to manifest any disgust. 1 thought of your 
remark, “We need not fear criticism from the highly-refined or the 
rich ‘to the manor born’: only snobs and mushroom aristocrats deal 
in incivilities.’’ After my debut in that assembly of so much mag- 
nificence, I wished above all things that I could be an invisible 
observer of the whole scene. It must have been something like a 


280 


THE NOVICE. 


royal court reception; there were many queens, but no throne, I 
wondered if the royal families of Europe ever become weary of the 
monotous repetitions of such scenes. I suppose they are on exhibition 
like caged animals, where propriety forbids the relaxation of dignity^ 
by social conversation. Perhaps, like me, they prefer a peaceful cot 
beside the sea or a hut amid the hills. There is no real happiness 
except with those we love; then either place would prove a paradise. 

The women here are more beautiful than any that I have seen 
elsewhere. I am often reminded of your advice in regard to the 
selection of colors suitable for my complexion. The harmony of 
colors may be the secret of their uncommon beauty. 

Write whenever the opportunity offers. 

Sincerely yours, 

Lucile. 

Calais, France, May 5 , 1891 . 

My Dear Lucile, — Did that "mistake’’ from which there was no 
retreat, refer to any engagement by which you have broken your 
promise to me as your brother? 1 fear you are making trouble for 
yourself as well as for me. Are you not fickle? You have not men- 
tioned that adorable cousin in all that long letter. I am glad to know 
that you are among elegant people, and yet I am very jealous lest 
you become so fascinated v/ith your friends there that you may sever 
former ties. 

As the queen of the hour, your style of dress may have been a 
surprise: but it was better to be unadorned than to be thrown into 
eclipse by radiant apparel. The hut amid the hills and a cot beside 
the sea were novel selections for a newly-fledged heiress. Why not 
a castle-crowned cliff? 

While on the ocean, I had more time than neu/s. The women 
fluttered in gray robes, and the men tramped about in gray ulsters; 
both wore gray caps; sex was determined by bangs for the one, and 
mustache for the other. The natural scenery was the blue sky 
above, flecked occasionally with gray clouds, the same being re- 
flected in a minor key on the waves below. 

Write often. Jim well. 

Lovingly yours, 

Gerald, 

Before this reached Lucile, she had already written a 
letter to Gerald. 


THB NOVICB. 


28 ^ 


Aberdeen, Miss.. May 16 , 1891 . 

T>ear Gerald,- — By noticing the date, you will find I h-ave no't 
xvaited for a reply to my last letter, 

Tne other day I attended a grand barbecue, which 'was arranged 
•on the edge of the prairie, under the shade of the tall pecan trees. 
‘The whole plan was in imitation of the ante-bellum style, A speaker’s 
■stand was erected at the foot of a declivity, with seats in front in 
•semi-circle tiers. The ground was carpeted with the fragrant straw 
■from a lately mown field. My cousin and I went out at an early 
hour, before the crowd collected. Leaving the grand stand, we were 
attracted' to a smooth, glittering surface, where the wheat bran was 
pounded into the soil until it was as smooth as glass, and nearly as 
hard as stone. This was for the dance. In the distance, the smoke 
Was ascending from the cuisine department. Trenches dug in the 
ground were filled with fire; and bars -of iron were placed across at 
intervals, upon which were stretched carcasses of lamb, kid, shoah 
tfowls, and wild game. The cooks stood by, with ladles of spiced 
vinegar, to moisten and soften the broiling flesh, and to impart an 
appetizing odor. My cousin said such odors were enough to tempt a 
a cannibal from his delicate morsels of human flesh. 

The program for the day was speeches, political, humorous, and 
instructive; music by a string band was interspersed between them', 
I heard a plantation melody by real negroes, dressed as cornfield 
hands in slavery time; coarse, white shirts, without coats; copperas- 
colored pants, vdth homemade suspenders, knit from cotton twine. 
Their voices were harmonious, but lacked pathos; their time was as 
regular as the ticking of a clock. 

When dinner was announced, long ktfeamS of people, from differ-^ 
ent directions, flowed toward the many white tables, loaded with 
substantial food. At the close of the repast, wine flowed freely; and 
as the spirits of the vine went down, the spirits of the men rose up; 
From the stimulated brains came sparkling toasts and repartee. 

When a toast was given, every goblet was lifted high; then the 
men quaffed the wine; but the women, at a given signal poured theirb 
on the ground as an oblation to temperance. This unexpected ma- 
neuver caused loud cheers for prohibition. 

In the afternoon, the musicians on the stand near the bran floor, 
began to tune up their instruments as a signal for the dancers. 
Young men and maidens, gray-haired sires and their wives, children 


282 


THE NOVICE. 


of various ages, stepped into the ranks drawn out like a phalanx of 
soldiers ready for battle. The first few notes of an Old Virginia reel 
thrilled along the lines of waiting dancers. Some more pious 
women moved farther away from the contaminating lines. Then 
followed the minuet; finger tips touched finger tips as in the olden 
time. The courtly bow of the men and the graceful courtesy of the 
women were charming movements. Round dances positively forbiddenr 
was placarded upon the trees. As we rode home through the long 
lanes which divide the plantations, we saw many ragged, filthy 
negroes lounging on fences, while their idle hoes stood near them. 
They gazed with impudent stare and scowling faces at the passing 
crowd. 

“Poor negroes!’’ said an old man on horseback near our vehicle, 
“before the war, I have seen these hands dressed every day in clean 
white homespun clothes. They were not allowed to go filthy.’’ 

My cousin inquired if they looked dissatisfied then, 

“La, no f They were cheerful and happy; they made the welkin 
ring with original songs, to which they improvised new words every 
day. Appeals in one part of the field, and replies from another 
part. How different now ! They are indolent and improvident; 
they growl and fight among themselves; they slash their wives for 
trifling offenses, and in return the women poison their husbands. 
Woe to those who through sympathy (7) lured them from comfortable 
homes to seek a disappointing freedom ! Woe to their mistaken 
advisers in the coming judgment, when they will be confronted by 
a host of thieves, murderers, drunkards, and wretched ones, who 
needed masters to clothe them comfortably, feed them with suitable 
food, control their savage tempers, and to lead them to Christ.’’ 

Yours sincerely. 


Lucile, 


CHAPTER XXVIIT 

Love Thy Neighbor. 

Rome, Georgia, June 5, 1891. 

iNEAR LUCILE, — What an age since you left us! How we miss 
you 1 Your cheerful letter was a pleasure! Percy carries his 
letter in his vest pocket, and feels for it whenever your name is 
mentioned. 

Gerald either can’t or won’t use a pen, and his telegrams contain 
very little information. I have not the least idea whether his trip is 
for weeks or months. He does not mention his foot; the surgeons 
might cut off his head, and his friends would never know it. 

But, oh, let me tell you! I am the happiest woman in the world! 
You can’t guess who has made me a visit. He never came while 
Gerald was here. A dear old beau of my girlish days ! It has been 
at least ten years, and he does not look a day older. His hair may 
be whiter, but it is so lovely: the black hair, touched up with a few 
threads of silver. His old smiles have not been twisted into v/rinkles, 
like those of some men, but are just as sweet as ever. 

It is a wonder you did not fall in love with him yourself. But I 
forget: I have not told you whom I mean. I’ll save his name for a 
surprise, which you will enjoy when you come. 

Mallie Raymond comes right often to hear from Gerald, but that 
may be a ruse of hers; she may get letters from him every day. 1 
do hope Gerald won’t marry for Percy hates her. She tells him 
she will marry his uncle, and he will have to call her aunt; he vows 
he will not. If you and Gerald ever marry, our happiness will be 
complete. Percy sends much love. 

Very lovingly yours, 

Mary Bradford. 

When Lucile had read the letter from Mrs. Bradford, her 
thoughts were busy considering the changed relation between 
Mrs. Bradford and herself. Two or three years before, 
when she was installed as nurse, Mrs. Bradford was afraid 
of compromising her dignity by allowing the least degree of 


Tf{£ mvfce. 


m 

familiarity with an insignificant nurse, whom she now 
courted as an intimate frfend. And why? She was just: 
the same individual,, but had more money. Had money' 
tnade her better or wiser? Certainly, not better. Mrs.. 
Bradford had tolerated the silliest visito-rs as a m’arlc of def- 
erence ta their standing in the social world. 

Politeness requires us to be civil,, even to- those who bore 
iis with their silly chatter. If they fail ta interest us, thert 
ft is our duty to- add to their enjayment by our cheerfulness.. 
Uninteresting people are usually neglected; they often have- 
a hungry look, as if conscious of their failure in society. 
We are not to consider this earthly home of ours as a pleasure- 
ground, where we may seek our own amusement alone. As- 
others glide by us^ we must give them a lift by a pleasant 
smile, a cheerful word, or a sympathetic inquiry. Kindness 
rs not pretended friendship. 

In those earlier days, Mrs. Bradford had no hopes of for- 
giveness from the uncle, whom she truly loved; and she was 
repulsed in every effort to win the affection of Gerald. She 
feared his eccentricity would lead him to prefer Lucile. 

“How different now !” thought Lucile, “she even expresses 
^ desire for him to marry me. She does not fear any pre- 
sumption now. What on earth has induced Mrs. Bradford 
to think of a marriage between Gerald and myself? As for 
him, he seems to be afraid that I will mistake his brotherly 
interest as a preference for me. Every letter emphasizes 
the brother, as if / needed that hint; it is almost an insult. 
He interprets my sympathy as love; I will commit no faux 
pas in that direction. 

Aberdeem, Miss., June 10 , 1891 . 

Dear Gerald,— It is a sister’s privilege to write letters without 
waiting for answers. I have had letters from Mrs. Bradford and 
Percy; she pleads for my return to her home. My friends here refuse 


THE NOVICE. 


235 


to call any place my home but this. If they mean a place where 1 
may idle away my time by visiting and being visited, then 1 shall 
remain homeless. 1 remember that the command, “Six days shalt 
thou labor,’’ precedes and creates a necessity for a Sabbath rest. I 
do not intend to let money cripple my energy and usefulness. 

The Lord’s harvest is ripe, and the laborers are comparatively 
few. I can imagine your “tut, tut!’’ of disgust: but conscience is 
a stronger motive power than the will of friends. Have no fears: 1 
shall not venture beyond woman’s allotted sphere: 1 will not lecture 
or intrude within the pulpit. 

These people have contributed much to my enjoyment, and 1 
would be ungrateful to question their motives. You see that circum- 
stances have exposed one very great fault in my character, which 
is suspicion. 1 am glad that 1 have not the poverty that makes one 
envious. I think 1 understand why Solomon wrote, “Give me 
neither poverty nor riches.’’ The lack of money may lead to theft 
and murder: the possession of it does not buy happiness. 

I am conscious that 1 am writing a very stupid letter, but I have 
taken such an awful cold. Is there any other sort? 1 must spur up 
my imagination by recalling some of the thrilling scenes through 
which we have passed. 

The first that comes to mind is the opossum hunt, which caused this 
stupefying cold. The new moon was sinking in the western sky. An 
elderly gentleman and matronly chaperone were first upon the public 
highway; but their jogging steeds were soon left in the receding dis- 
tance, by several gentlemen and ladies who were speeding away in 
full gallop toward the blatant horns and yelping dogs in front. 

When we reached the edge of the woodland, the torchbearers 
lighted the tarry ends of their faggots, which blazed and sputtered, 
dropping the burning liquid like a trail of falling meteors in their 
track. As we came up, the hounds were loitering in the rear, whining 
as if they were conscious of more danger than sport. The curs, 
now masters of the occasion, bolted forward, with coarse barks, to 
proclaim the presence of some invisible game. There was silent 
waiting, listening; then the leading cur far ahead gave light, con- 
tinuous yelps. “On trail” cried the negro who carried the ax. rush- 
ing forward on foot. Soon loud barking announced the game 
“treed.” When we, the riders, came up, the leading cur stood up 
on his hind legs, with his forepaws extended up a persimmon tree. 


286 


THE NOVICE. 


where he gazed, without moving, at a sulky opossum on a limb 
above him. This dog was as much of a hero as the gladiator, who 
stands with one foot on his conquered foe. The axman soon felled 
the slender tree; and the animal bounded out beyond the circle of 
dogs, which turned to begin the famous fight, so delighting to blood- 
thirsty (?) men. His caudal appendage was soon clasped in a split 
stick, and away we rode. As we struck the highway again, a strong 
cold wind was blowing upon our backs. Our wraps were not hunting 
apparel, and we suffered the consequences. 

It is not necessary to remind you that 1 pray for you, and 1 need 
your prayers more than you imagine. 

Yours sincerely. 

Lucile. 

Lucile sat with her elbow upon the table, and her fore- 
head resting upon her upturned hands; she was thinking of 
the wanderer; her eyes closed, while her spirit comn'iuned 
with the Great Father of Spirits, How serenely happy we 
may be if we leave all our cares and sorrows to God for 
adjustment and direction. 

Rome, Italy, July 2 , 1891 , 

Dear Lucile,— “That temperance lecture, by pouring wine upon 
the ground, was a novel pantomime, and perhaps impressive. It 
may have stimulated the will-power of weak men, and helped them 
to resist temptation in after days. Lectures against liquors are 
effectual; lectures to guilty men are aggravating and debasing. 

Every Southern man who is old enough to remember the slaves 
of ante-bellum times, has marked the sad changes in their condition. 
The slaves had no care for clothing or food, seed time or harvest, 
reaping or sowing: they knew kind masters failed not in the needed 
comforts, even when crops were short. 

Every master considered the strength and capacity of each slave 
as much as he did that of his own children. The well-being of the 
negro now lies in the possibility of his being educated in all kinds of 
manual labor; to become carpenters, smiths, masons, glaziers, etc. 
The thought that reaches up beyond visible objects to mark the stars 
in their course, emanated from the brain of the white man. By 
narrow lines of light he can trace even metals upon starry surfaces 


THE NOVICE. 


287 


which roll millions of miles away. Only the white man could use 
fire and water to carry the weight of hundreds of tons, with incon-^ 
ceivable velocity, to endless distances. What other brain could plan 
an engine by which a single hand could flash a whole city into an 
instant blaze of light? 

The white man must conceive plans; the negro has the power of 
construction. The white man can reason without the presence of 
facts; the negro is devoid of imagination, and waits for visible proofs. 
The white man has logical reasoning from imaginary premises; 
therefore he can make suitable laws. The negro is warped by cir- 
cumstantial prejudices, and an inherent desire for revenge. 

The white man, by mental formation, is the capable lawgiver; the 
negro is naturally submissive. No problem would have existed but 
for the mistakes in their education. Rights and resistance have been 
the ruling idea of their ignorant teachers. 

No news on the continent; the same gray figures from shipboard 
go everywhere. Every city has spires, domes, pillars, and beggars. 
Only ugly people seem to travel; 1 should think a long bridal trip 
would be a risky te.st of the force of love. Dusty, cross faces glare 
from under all sorts of hats. 

Your next letter was an unmerited infliction of ill-humor, as if I 
had been the bellows which blew that wind upon your backs. That 
was the first opossum hunt on horseback of which I have heard. 
Did you not forget to mention that the whole trip was a dream? The 
adorable cousin, and the grizzly-bearded bachelor were missing 
from the picture. If those two have dared to flirt with my sister, 
just tell them that my gauntlet lies at their feet. 

Sincerely yours, 

Gerald. 

Later. — As you certify that you will not appear on the lecture 
platform nor in the pulpit, perhaps your ill-humor may lead you into 
the brigand’s saddle. All desperate characters trace their habits to 
some disappointments. You arm yourself with many faults; are 
they warnings to threaten my authority? 

Lovingly yours, 

Gerald. 

Lucile enjoyed the letters of Gerald much more than if 
filled with descriptions, and yet she had written only such 
to him. She began to understand the reason why Gerald 


288 


THE NOVICE. 


criticised her letters so unmercifully; he wanted to know 
more about her thoughts and her real plans. Why did he? 
Was it curiosity? What then? 

“Highwaymen, indeed ! He thinks those men trifled with 
me. Even he, with all his boasted wisdom and experience, 
could not do ihat." 

She had forgotten another letter by same mail; she tore 
it open eagerly and read: — 


Roam, Iterly, Jooly 5, 1891. 

Miss Lucile, Deer miss, — I have ben too busy too write in the 
day and too tired too hole my eyes open at night. Mister Gerald 
has a Fotografer every place we go He takes fine houses and ugly 
ones all sortser places an all sortser folks He tuck a ragged chap 
cause he sung to a Gittar scuse that word taint in my pocket dic- 
shionery. Bless my sole he mout have found plenty fine boys thouten 
him His rags all cullers an he grinnin as if he had lotser Munny 
He tuck a dirty faced Gurl what had the ugliest Flours what growed 
in ole fields i uster foller the man an tuck care ov the picturs, i 
lowed to ask whose they for but I dassent. we cum ter Roam too 
day, i went to the palise of the pope with mister Gerald but a Soldier 
pulled me back at the gate i had to stand thair an wate. i mostly 
wanted to see if mister Gerald kissed the pope’s Tew i got lost 
wunce in paris i handed my card to a Police man. Mister G tole 
me an i be Switched ef he didnt take me fur a rale gentulman he 
polly vooed as ef he cood not say nuff, he tuck me to the Hotel. 

yourn tel 
deth, 

James Benson, 

Lucile read this letter, and laughed many times over it. 
The spelling was bad, and the writing worse; but it con- 
tained one agreeable piece of news. Gerald would bring 
back pictures of all important places, and he would give full 
descriptions when he came. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 
Courtesy. 


Q ERALD in Rome!” said Lucile, ‘T thought he would 
not be able to move for some time. He has so much 
endurance, so much will-power; I fear that he may injure 
himself by exercise. It is too cruel to keep me in suspense. 
I have not mentioned his foot in any of my letters; I wonder 
if he expected me to inquire about it. Dear me 1 I am tired 
of everybody and everything, I must not lose his friendship; 
I will have to depend upon him to get mother’s jewels. 

“Bulwer says, ‘Every friendship is a league of interest.’ 
Is friendship based on any mutual benefit or dependence? 
Surely not. I think I like people from whom I expect 
no material assistance. I anticipate some pleasure from 
their society. I like the good-will of everyone. If we have 
enemies, we must be lacking in the power of allurement. 
We may be negligent of some duty that concerns them. 
Their envy, their scorn, their bitterness, and all of those 
hateful things, have their origin in some repulse from us, 
whether intentional or not. There may be repulsion in a 
cold look, a careless word, a rude act, all of which remain 
as spots on our characters, which cannot be effaced from 
the memory of those offended by them. 

“It is so hard to do exactly right; I may have to enter 
some nunnery if I ever hope to reach heaven. That would 
be a negative kind of goodness, which is in opposition to all 
of my plans for doing good to others. If I am popular, I can 
have more influence for good. A scowl never leads men or 
brutes. I cannot meet everyone with a smiling face; yet I 
may be polite, courteous, and considerate of their feelirgs. 


290 


THE NOVICE. 


Aberdeen, Miss., July 26, 1891. 

Dear Gerald, — Your last letter was bristling with thorns, and I 
shall feel their pain until 1 see that mischievous smile, and hear from 
your own lips that you did not think what you wrote. 

1 am sure that 1 told you your uncle left for Georgia some time 
ago. “Grizzled!” that was cruel; the silvery threads have a charm 
of reverence that no other color could give. Your own locks have a 
few shining threads that your barber forgot to pull out. 

I have not seen my cousin since that famous opossum hunt. He 
is very busy making arrangements for his nuptials, which will take 
place in the fall. His betrothed is a lovely woman, entirely different 
in every respect from myself. 

1 have had no disappointments from them or from anyone else. 
If 1 had any special interest in anyone, 1 would have told you. You 
are such a tease; you ought to remember hov/ sensitive I am. You 
almost demand my confidence, yet you are very reticent of your 
own affairs. Your warnings against fortune hunters were entirely 
unnecessary. The young men are barely civil; there is a degree of 
restraint that convinces me that my reticence is construed into self- 
importance. 

You suggest a castle among the cliffs for me. I am fond of pic- 
tures with rocky cliffs, mountain passes, and sheltered nooks. I 
think real mountains may have bandits in those nooks, and wild 
beasts in the passes. 

There is a natural scene much fairer and less dangerous, which I 
can recall from memory. It is the uncultivated prairie in the spring. 
The tall emerald grass, thickly set with feathery golden-rod, the ruby 
phlox, the garnet pinks, the amethyst bells, every stone having some 
representative flower; then the dewdrops glittering in the morning 
light were like myriads of diamonds. No artist or florist ever 
planned a garden of such extent, variety, and beauty, as those God 
formed for the red man when in his pristine glory. But ah ! The 
avaricious white man ignored the spring beauty when he burnt the 
fall turf, and replanted the soil with cotton and corn. 

Mrs. Bradford is urgent in her request for me to return to Georgia. 
How am I to get there? The adorable cousin is busy, the charming 
Golonel is gone, and my brother is away for an indefinite time. 

Sincerely yours, 


Lucile. 


THE NOVICE. 


291 


When Gerald reached the shores of the Eastern Continent, 
he hurried on to Paris, with certain legal documents from 
the Mayor of New Orleans and the Chief of Police, which 
were requests for the co-operation of certain gendarmes. 

' Then on to Rome, with similar papers. He was also 
intrusted with communications in Latin from a certain car- 
dinal, to be delivered to his holiness, the Pope. With the 
cardinal’s seal, he found no difficulty in gaining admittance 
into the Vatican. 

The conference seemed very long to Jim, who stood in 
the court below. When Gerald came out, his face was 
radiant with satisfaction; but there was nothing about his 
person to indicate the object of his visit. He carried a 
small leathern case, which was not visible when he went in. 

Jim, with a polite bow, extended his hand for the case, 
saying, “Must I?” Gerald shook his head as a refusal, and 
they passed on. French and Italian policemen made sug- 
gestions, and followed every possible clue, on the main- 
land and on the islands near. To Gerald’s astonishment, 
neither class would venture within the province of Monaco. 
Then, with genuine American courage, he resolved to enter, 
and if need be, scale the fortified retreat of Monte Garlos. 

Gerald was not a gambler; yet he moved and talked 
cautiously, for he was conscious that his life would be but a 
trifling toy with the men whom he sought. Rude and law- 
less men? Indeed he found nonesuch: law and order ruled 
the place; a gambler’s retreat, but not an oath, not a sot, 
met his gaze. He mingled with the men, but his manly 
bearing claimed their respect; no curious sharper wheedled 
about him. The game he sought was not there. When 
he returned to the place where he had left Jim, he found 
Lucile’s letter. He read, — 

Your last letter was bristling with thorns. 


292 


THB NOVICE. 


“Ah, yes! I remember inquiring about her possible dis- 
appointments from those two admirers.” 

And I shall feel their pain until I see— 

“Poor child I I must hurry home, and not visit those other 
castles of which we read.” 

Your own locks have a few shining threads. 

“Umph ! She must pluck them out some day.” 

If I had any special interest in anyone, I would have told you. 

“I doubt it, little sister. Women, whether conscious of 
It or not, are just a little deceitful in love affairs. No wonder ! 
They can’t make love to men, nor dare they show affection 
unless they feel sure that their love is requited.” 

Young men are barely civil. 

“Lucile was proud and haughty before she became an 
heiress, and now she may be more so. Those men resent 
her pride by cool indifference. No true man will tie himself 
to a woman’s apron-strings, even for money. A servile 
spirit belongs only to the weakest of men; will is a dominant 
power, which yields to nothing so contemptible as the love 
of money. The beautiful prairie is captivating Lucile; I 
suppose she has forgotten the ‘red old hills of Georgia.’ ” 

Cousin is busy, Colonel is gone, and my brother is away for an 
indefinite time. 

“Not SO indefinite! 1 think I have completed all my 
business, and now for America !” 


CHAPTER XXX. 

The Fox Hunt. 

T he musings of Gerald were interrupted by the entrance 
of Jim, who brought several letters, among which was 
one from Lucile, 

Gerald was so well satisfied with his unexpected success 
an his business affairs> and so happy over the hope of a 
speedy return home, that he scarcely glanced at the letters 
lying before him. 

His face was radiant with smiles, while he sat looking 
out of the window. Jim had so often noticed the eagerness 
and pleasure which Gerald manifested when he opened the 
letters of Lucile, that now he was surprised to see one lying 
before him untouched. He wondered what vision from 
without had so completely charmed him. He arose noise= 
iessly, and peeped over Gerald’s shoulder to see what curious 
person or attractive object was visible there. Only time-worn 
roofs and closed shutters met his gaze. 

Jim dropped back into his seat with a sigh. 

“What is it, Jim?” said Gerald, turning to look at the boy. 
“Nothin’ much, sir; I was thinkin’ we oughter go home 
purty soon.” 

“Are you homesick, my boy? Then, we will pack up and 
be off.” 

“Not partic’lar sick; any time ’ll suit me.” 

The revery of Gerald being broken, he examined the mail 
carelessly. He held a letter unopened, while he mused over 
the anticipated contents. 

“One from Lucile ! Dear girl, your letters are never too 
numerous or too long. I may answer this one in person.” 


294 


THE NOVICE, 


Aberdeen, Miss., Aog. lO, 1891, 

Dear Gerald,— fn my last letter I mentioned the fox hunt, but 
f related no special incident co-nnected with it. As I have promised 
to tell you of every person in whom I felt any interest, I must say 
that my escort is the most agreeable man ! have met since I came 
to Mississippi, He is remarkably handsome: and oh, my ! so enter- 
taining ! He came from Mexico lately, but he has lived in Texas. 

He is the finest horseman I ever saw. His horse and mine were 
perfectly obedient to his commands, though given in a quiet under- 
tone. If they had not been so completely under his control, what 
would have become of me? Killed, of course. I am so much excited, 

1 know I write nonsense. But 1 must first describe the hunt. 

At break of day we were all in the saddle: the crisp morning air 
tingled our cheeks with a rosy glow. Horses, riders, and even the 
hounds, were all on the qui uive waiting. Notes from a distant 

horn wavered cn the air, as an approaching huntsman swayed with 
the regular movements of his galloping steed. Our horses were 
quivering beneath, us with expectant joy. The hounds whined and 
plunged forward to escape from the leash that bound them. 

Again those notes! not like the Alpine horn, shivering its tones 
against the icy cliffs, then softening their shrillness among the melting’ 
crags; no, it was the inimitable horn of the prairie. First a diatone 
of mellow sounds, then trillandoes whistling through the air. These 
were varied by staccato notes, calling on the right; then on the left, 
came the echo in a minor key. Every measure full of meaning: a 
language known to each huntsman, and by him translated to his 
hounds. The Mexican escort said that such sounds on the distant 
plains would drive away every wolf; and the startled, curious deer 
would venture near enough to show their antlers as a provoking 
target, then turn and fly. 

When we came to the prairie, there was a momentary halt to give 
the hunters a chance to watch the tall grass when shaken by game,, 
and then to loose the hounds. We rode forward slowly; the yellow 
grass, not yet stiff with age, waved with the morning breeze, while 
the light from the rising sun glinted it with gold. When the hounds 
were loose, they bounded forward with low yelps, snuffing the air, 
and smelling the trail of a fox, which was gliding over the long 
bending grass. We cantered forward without a thought of danger, 
when the hounds overtook us. Some were yelping, others gliding 


THE NOVICE, 


295- 


swiftly and silently through the tall grass, which sprang up as they left 
at. As we could not see the careful fox ahead, we were not conscious 
of being so near his trail. Abound, reckless of hoofs, struck against 
the hind foot of nny horse. Not seeing the dog. the horse began 
rearing and kicking. In an instant his bit was grasped by my escort; 
and, by his soothing tones and quiet command, the horse stood still, 
though shivering with fear. He patted him, and talked to him as if 
he was a frightened child. He then explained that horses were much 
afraid of snakes when going through long grass. This was my first 
romance. 

Yours sincerely, 

Lucile, 

P. S, — My letter was so long I could not finish the fox hunt, and 
i forgot to mail this. I may as well write again to-day; I like to 
revert to those scenes. I hope they do not bore you. 

On the prairies, where there is much lime in the soil, in dry weather 
the ground opens in crevices a foot or two deep. These places are 
hidden by thick grass, and furnish a safe covert for foxes; the hounds, 
moving swiftly, bound over them and lose their trail. 

While cantering on leisurely, chatting pleasantly, suddenly my 
horse stepped into one of these openings, and down I came with the 
saddle to the ground. Two or three miles from the woodland on 
either side of the prairie; no stumps, no fences; walking in the grass, 
an impossibility. My escort continued talking pleasantly, as if 
nothing serious had happened; while with his knife he cut strips of 
le'ather from some part of the horse’s trappings, and soon mended 
the saddle girth and strapped it in its place. 

Now was my dilemma, how to gst up. He understood the situa- 
tion, and told me to grasp the horns of the saddle; then he held the 
palm of his hand low'-'enough for an easy step; the tip of my boot 
merely touched his hand, and I sprang into the saddle without the 
least difficulty. That was romance No. 2, 

Farther on the soil was. under cultivation; no wood fencing; the 
large plantations were separated by deep ditches, with an embank- 
ment on either side. On these were planted impenetrable hedges 
of the long thorny branches of Chickasaw rose. 

The foxes shunned thfese spiny coverts; there were no fences, 
no underbrush to jump over, which] hunters encounter in England. 
The prairie was truly an American scene, but my escort might have 


296 


THE NOVICE. 


been taken for an English lord. As the hedges became more numer- 
ous, the chances of the fox were decreasing. The hounds were 
growing more noisy, and the huntsmen increased their speed. 

My escort asked if I preferred to be ‘“in at the death.” No,, 
indeed ! We turned our horses back, and chatted on. His descrip- 
tions of Mexico were new and interesting; before we reached the 
woodlands again, the hunters overtook us; the foremost one had the 
foxtail on his hat as his trophy. 

We returned home by way of the turnpike: the road was narrow 
and high, with a wilderness of tangled vines covering the marsh on 
either side. When we reached the turnpike, 1 saw a gate in front of 
us, and wagons waiting their turn to enter when the toll was paid. 
There my escort threw a gold coin to the keeper, with as much indif- 
ference as if it were a copper. Tne man fumbled in his pockets for 
change, but we were out of reach before he couH offer it. 

Yours sincerely. 

Lucile, 

P. S. — 'You must excuse postscripts, but I am interrupted so often 
and have to close unexpectedly. Noa^, while waiting for a visitor, 

I will relieve your mind on one point. This gentleman from Mexico 
knows nothing about my estate; and, if he did, he seems to have 
plenty of money of his own: he is no fortune hunter. He is very zeal- 
ous for charitable institutions, and seems to feel much pity for the 
pooroi Mexico. H I wait for your letters, mine will be lengthened 
infinitely. 

Good-bye, 

Lucile. 

While Gerald was reading this long letter from Lucile, 
Jim had picked up the London Times from the floor, and 
was much Interested in its columns, when some impatient 
movement drew his attention to Gerald. He was much 
surprised to see that face, so cheerful a moment ago, now 
pale and clouded; the thin lips pressed grimly together. Jim 
could not play the spy upon one whom he loved so much; 
he turned his face toward the window, and tried to read on. 
Those faults that the boy displayed in earlier years, had 
been banished by careful training and better example. 


THE NOVICE. 


297 


Gerald was' positive, and at times very stern; but in that 
sternness the boy recognized just reproof for some failure 
of his own: sometimes it was negligence, at other times some 
prevarication to cover faults or mistakes. He learned to be 
truthful in his expressions, and expeditious in the per* 
formance of duty. Gerald had effectually curbed his evil 
inclinations and enlarged his capacity for good deeds. The 
boy’s perception was accurate; and his memory, a reliable 
photograph of past events, unclouded by faulty judgment. 
Interwoven with his manly strength of character was a love 
for his friends, stronger than death. His love of God, as 
taught by Lucile, was a restraining influence, which led him 
to hesitate when the commands of Gerald seemed incom* 
patible with the divine law. This amused, but never irritated 
Gerald; it added to his confidence in the boy. 

The beggars of Rome, even the idle lazzaroni, appealed 
to the sympathy of the observing boy. He had known the 
bitterness of a poverty far less difficult to bear than that 
of these homeless, friendless wanderers. If he had thou- 
sands at his command at the end of his journey, he would 
still be forced to work his passage home. 

He could not understand why men and women flaunted 
their ragged persons about the street corners, unless hope- 
lessly destitute. He could not understand how the soft, 
enervating climate of Italy, like the Indian hasheesh, could 
lure the mind with beautiful dreams, while stealing away 
the will and vigor. 

The flaccid muscles and relaxed nerves need some stim- 
ulus of purpose or ambition to rouse them from the dolce 
far nienie. What hopeful vista does ambition open for those 
who find scant pay for difficult labors? What pity from a 
nobility so accustomed to scenes of depravity and misery? 
The appeals of the destitute are a novelty that obstructs 


298 


THE NOVICE. 


no path but that of the generous, credulous American, Jim 
had observed the continued benevolence of Gerald, and 
an imitative chord had been touched in his own heart. 
He desired employment that would accumulate money, so 
that he might some day be able to found a home for these 
poor of Italy, Thus our deeds, as well as our words, will 
scatter seed that may take root in other heads and. hearts, 
to bring forth a harvest of good or evil. 

Gerald was much disturbed while reading the first of Lu- 
cile’s letter; but when he finished the two postscripts, his 
wrath was kindled to excess. 

“Mexican!” he muttered to himself, “captivated by one 
of a race so unreliable. Surely, prosperity has bewitched 
her of her reason! The soft Spanish words might easily 
woo and win an artless, romantic girl like Lucile. Mercy! 
If she marries him, he may secure her fortune, and then 
use his stiletto to remove her. Cruel, inhuman Mexicans! 
Why didn’t 1— but no; I was right. I was only just; she 
ought to have entered society untrammeled by promises. I 
may have relied on her innate strength of character too 
much for one so unused to the fascinating coquetries of 
society men. This man was less shy than the rest, and her 
animated letters betray the real interest she feels. .^If I write 
anything to condemn the man, she will imagine that. I am 
jealous; the broiherly claims are recognized pnly,when my 
opinion coincides with hers, I ought to go :hpme, but I 
won’t go just yet; the next letter may contradict the im- 
pression made by this. I dare say the man drinks. Poor 
girl! She may have the insane idea of reforming him. 
Many girls believe that they possess such power. Two post- 
scripts, both about the Mexican; no wonder the letter is so 
long. She will naturally expect these two romances to end 
in love and marriage. She could not get her consent to be 


THB NOVICE. 


29 ^ 


confiding when she first mentioned the fox hunt. If I were 
were only with her, I might change her opinions by ridicule; 
but then she seems to have gained more self-reliance.” 

He closed the letter with so deep a sigh that Jim turned 
upon him a look of inquiry. He looked up pleasantly, and 
said to him, “Jim, my boy, what are you reading?” 

“’Bout earthquakes and volcanoes.” 

“Then, let’s go over to see them,” 

“I would like it the best of anything in the world.” 

“What is your opinion of volcanoes?” 

Gerald was seeking diversion in Jim’s absurd originality, 

“Mr. Gerald, I was just a-thinking they mought be the 
Devil’s chimneys.” 

“How do you know that the Devil lives in the earth?” 

“He is not among the stars, for he fell from heaven to 
some place,” 

“Yes; when the devils that possessed men were cast out 
by the seventy disciples, Christ said he saw 'Satan, as light- 
ning, fall from heaven.’” 

“Stars are too clear and bright for dark, wicked devils,” 

“Do you think God lives among the stars?” 

“Where else could he be?” 

’“Do you know the Pleiades when you see them?” 

“I think I do. Miss Lucile told me the names of some of 
the brightest stars; they are close together.” 

“It is thought, that they are the center of the universe, 
and all the other stars move around them.” 

“Then God must be there.” 

“He may be.” 

“I shall love those six stars most of all,” 

“The ancients thought there had been seven, and that one 
disappeared.” 

“A beautiful placeJor heaven.” 


300 


THE NOVICE. 


“Well, are you afraid to go near those chimneys of the 
Devil?” 

No, sir; the Bible says fear God, but nowhere does it say 
to fear the Devil.” 

“Are you not afraid of the Devil when you do wrong?” 

“Mr. Gerald, I’m most afraid of God, even when I think 
of doing wrong.” 

“Don’t you think the Devil is afraid of God, too?” 

“Most likely he is, for he was throwed out of heaven; 
don’t the Bible talk of devils trembling? What they tremble 
for if they not afeard?” 

“Then we will risk a visit to those chimneys of the Devil, 
and trust in God lest the Devil send an earthquake to shake 
us down into his fiery kingdom.” 

“I think God takes care of good people, and keeps them 
outen the Devil’s reach; but when they go near the Devil, 
don’t the Sperit leave them there?” 

“We are going there to see the place, and not to serve 
the Devil. I have dismissed my photographer, and we will 
get no pictures.” 

“We can tell her nuff, can’t we?” 

Gerald’s eyes expanded at the word her. 

“Pack up my things, while I answer some letters.” 

Rome, Italy, Sep. 2, 1891. 

Dear Lucile,— According to Jim’s theory, Etna and Vesuvius are 
the chimneys of Satan; we may soon be venturing very near the 
kingdom of His Majesty. I shall not expect to see him, as I am 
now sure that he is again transformed into an angel of light, and that 
he is fanning lotus odors upon a dear little sister over on the Western 
Continent. 

We shall visit Pantellaria, where the Russians tried to build a 
fortress, but were deterred by the frightful commotion of the waves. 

I am anxious to get a peep at the Giulia before she vanishes again 
into the foaming sea. The last upheaval of that island must have 


THE NOVICE. 


301 


exceeded in grandeur any pyrotechnics that nature has furnished for 
many centuries. The reappearance of the Giulia was announced by 
subterranean thunders, then a violent commotion of the sea; it must 
have been like that storm that occurred when Aeneas left Troy on 
his first voyage. 

You remember Virgil’s description: “The crest of the waves threat- 
ened to lash the stars, and the sands of the bottom were visible 
between.” In the midst of the sea. on the spot where the Guilia had 
been, there arose a mountain of foaming waves, which shot up from 
its crest a tall spiral of flame, around which arose a fountain of liquid 
fire that fell again in curved lines into the hissing sea. There was 
no visible footing for an English seaman, who might again venture 
to plant a standard there. 

You were fortunate in receiving all the telegrams, which gave you 
our address in advance, so that our mail reached us. Many thanks 
for your trouble. Shall I send you a telegram from the Plutonic 
regions? As you have formed the acquaintance of this royal per- 
sonage, you rriay prefer that we trace the lineage of His Majesty. 

Good-bye, 


Gerald. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

Wedded Again. 

T he sarcastic style of Gerald’s letter gave no offense 
to Lucile, because she felt no personal interest in that 
escort. Only the guilty are sensitive and quick to resent an 
affront. Lucile laughed over this letter, even more than 
over the rest of them. She said to herself, “Mexican ! I do 
wonder if I forgot to mention his name. That would have 
decided his nationality for Gerald. My ! I was so excited 
in getting up a full description of the fox hunt, I forgot, too, 
that he was in college with Gerald, and remembered himi 
well. Gerald thinks I am in love with another fortune hunter, 
and he wants to nip the passion in the bud; better that, than 
to think I am in love with him myself. Gerald would not 
for the world have me make any mistake by marriage. He 
is a dear, good fellow; I do wonder if — pshaw ! nonsense ! 
he never even hinted that he— loved me. 

“That island! I do wish it would stay above the waves 
until I could see it, too. If I had gone with him, his pres- 
ence would have enhanced the pleasure of the visit. 

“When will he* return? He has been gone only four 
months, and it seems quite an age. He has not written 
one word about that marriage. Here is Mrs. Bradford’s 
letter to answer; she may not have written about it to Ger- 
ald. Either they do not wish him to be present, or he may 
prefer to be away until it is all over. She writes, ‘We pre- 
fer a quiet marriage at home; no guests but a special few; 
I am too happy to care about publicity or unusual display.’ 
They will spend the winter in New Orleans, and wish me to 
accompany them.” 


THE NOVICE. 


303 


“Going home?” The oft-repeated question almost broke 
her heart, though she gave no evidence of pain. Home! The 
one spot, which had been a happy home, was no longer hers; 
those two would live elsewhere after their trip. When she 
returned to her boarding house, her packing was a mourn- 
ful task, and the tears trickled over the garments while she 
laid them in her trunk. Money may buy a dwelling place, 
but home is only where the heart is. 

****** 

Some weeks later Lucile sat alone in their private parlor 
in the St. Charles Hotel. She was reading, when suddenly 
two hands closed over her eyes; she had heard no footsteps 
on the thick, soft carpet. The first thought that suggested 
itself to her mind was, that no one but Percy would take 
such a liberty. She laughed and said, “Take them away, 
darling, your hands are too cold.” 

“I will,” replied the manly voice of one who bent over her. 

She sprang to her feet in such haste that her temple 
brushed the mustache of Gerald, but no caress was given 
in the proximity of his lips. “Gerald at last 1” she ex- 
claimed, while her cheeks grew rosy and pale by turns. 

“Yes; am I not welcomie?” 

“No need to ask; I am surprised, but delighted.” 

“You wanted to see me?” he asked, while taking her 
trembling hand. 

“Certainly I did; can you doubt it?” 

“Did the Mexican come with you?” he asked eagerly. 

“Why, Gerald!” said she with a frown, withdrawing her 
hand; then she added sternly, “How ridiculous you are !” 

“You have learned to call me by my name.” 

“Yes; is not that ridiculous, too? It was a lapsus linguae.” 

She was blushing painfully; she arose from her chair and 


304 


THE NOVICE. 


pulled it near the fire, saying to him, “Do come nearer the 
fire; these autumn nights are cool, and your hands are 
nearly frozen.” 

“You withdrew yours; were you chilled by the touch?” 

“No, no; but I have some regard for your health, coming 
in as you have from the night air.” 

“You did not answer my question about the Mexican.” 

“No questions!” she said, smiling, and lifting a warning 
finger, “at least,” she added, “until I can order a cup of hot 
coffee for you.” 

“Why not punch?” 

“Liquor? No woman should order that for any man.” 

“You are prudent; do you fear that I may get drunk?” 

“No, indeed; but it is against my principles to offer such 
beverages to anyone. Besides, you passed many saloons on 
the street; if you had desired liquor, you would not have waited 
to reach here before getting it.” 

“Don’t trust me too far: I am human.” 

“In that, I would trust you implicitly,” she said, going. 

“In that ? Stop ! Do you not trust me in other things?” 

“You need some coffee; delay might bring on a chill.” 

She hurried out as if she did not hear or understand. 

“Is this a tender regard for my health?” asked Gerald o' 
himself, “or does she fly from my questions?” 

“Lucile, come back!” he called after her, for he now 
saw the button of the electric bell, and wondered why she 
did not use it. 

She was anxious to escape to her room in order that she 
might regain control over her excited nerves. In a few 
moments she returned smiling. 

“Now I am ready to talk about the handsome escort; but 
in the first place, you must tell me if you object to my mar- 
rying a native Mexican.” 


THE NOVICE. 


305 


She could not keep fronn laughing to herself. He was 
looking into the fire, and did not know that she was jesting. 
“What a question!” said he, biting his lip. 

“There it is again ! no qusslions.” 

“You refuse to answer mine.” 

“But asking advice is not an obtrusive question.” 

“Why ask?” 

“Didn’t you tell me to consult you?” 

“Marry a Mexican! No; better for you to remain single.” 
“That is just what I expect to do.” 

“What! marry a — ” 

“My escort was no other than your friend, Harry Hughes.” 
“Harry Hughes! He is no Mexican!” 

Gerald had risen to his feet. 

“Harry Hughes !” he repeated, as if dreaming. His face 
was pale as he stood looking at her. 

“You would not have me marry him either?” she asked. 
“I would not, though / love him well.” 

This was far worse for Gerald; he could not interfere with 
the interest of his friend. He turned and walked up to her. 
“Then, you are engaged to Harry?” His voice quavered. 
“No; I promised to abide by your decision.” 

“With a proviso, which I well remember.” 

“He is not a Mexican.” 

“I have other objections.” 

“Then, don’t worry about me; I shall be an old maid.” 
“Then, you can love me still?” 

“Yes;” she said carelessly, “as a sister, if you trust me.” 
“ Trust you F” said he, laying his hand gently on her head, 
as if she were a child. She looked up with a sweet smile, 
but her cheeks were suffused with telltale blushes. 

“Lucile,” he said solemnly, “I would not suffer the weight 
of a feather to intervene between you and your happiness.” 


306 


THE NOVICE. 


“I know it, but I dislike to be told that I lack judgment.” 
“Some day you will understand my motive.” 

“Some day,” she repeated softly. 

Gerald seated himself beside her. 

“The clerk said the others were out.” 

“Yes; Col. Lewis and his wife, you know.” 

The servant entered with coffee and lunch. 

“How kind and thoughtful you are !” 

“I am glad you manipulate a knife and fork so well.” 

“So am I. I’ll not be dependent on a wife’s services.” 
“Women find pleasure in ministering to those they love.” 
“I believe you. Who belong to your party here?” 

She scanned his face while she repeated their names. 
“Colonel and Mrs. Lewis, and — ” 

“Who? Why do you hesitate?” he asked quickly. 
“Mallie Raymond did not come.” 

“That is tantalizing!” he replied almost scornfully. 

“Only our own home folks; I like that.” 

Lucile was vexed because she felt an officious blush 
creeping into her cheek unbidden. Gerald smiled in spite 
of his efforts to appear unconcerned. 

“Where is Harry? Is he at this hotel?” 

“He came to the United States to convey bullion to New 
York for his mining company; he stopped over at Aberdeen 
on his way back. He loves you very much; and he asked 
many questions about your trip, which I could not answer.” 
“Now, that I am here. I’ll tell you all about the trip.” 

“A voluntary recital, and no questions?” 

“I will keep my promise as long as you do yours." 
“Information elicited by questions is forced confidence.” 
“Some of the information that I have to give, being long 
repressed, may effervesce like champagne, and burst forth 
independent of any corkscrew questions.” 


THE NOVICE, 


307 


Before this stirring information had time to escape from 
his lips, Mrs. Lewis came in; and the unexpected sight of 
Gerald created such joy that she instantly threw her arms 
around his neck and kissed him, before he had time to realize 
the source of so much affection. 

“Ah, Mary!” said Col. Lewis, comiing in, “don’t waste your 
caresses on other men, even if they are kin. Why, it is 
Gerald! I am delighted to see you; looking so well, too.” 

“The trip has benefited you very much,” said Mrs. Lewis. 

“I congratulate you both,” said Gerald. 

When Percy saw his mother embrace his Uncle Gerald, 
he crept up to Lucile and kissed her. Affection, when 
genuine, is like anger in being contagious. One tender, 
loving spirit in a family smooths out many a wrinkle of care 
on some of the faces there; such a one can antidote the 
venom in the bitter anger of some others. So, too, one 
angry word will arouse a household into two belligerent fac- 
tions. Happy are those parents who will encourage the 
one and repress the other ! 

“Where is Percy?” 

The timid boy had shrunk back behind the chair of Lucile; 
but now he came forward, blushing like a girl. 

“My dear boy, have you no welcome for Uncle Gerald?” 

“I’m glad you’ve come; I wanted to see you before now.” 

“Thank you, my boy.” 

He was clasped in a loving embrace by two strong arms. 
This unusual tenderness from him drove away the shyness 
of the boy. 

“I wanted you to get across the ocean safe, and I — er— ” 

He hesitated, and looked down at the feet of Gerald; he 
wanted to see if a cork foot wore a boot, too. 

“What was it you wanted besides seeing me?” 

“I wanted to know if you could walk on a cork foot?” 


308 


THE NOVICE. 


Gerald laughed, and asked him which foot it was. 

“If I step on one and then on the other, I can tell.” 

“Try it; but be careful of bearing your weight on either.” 

“I see no difference; both rnust be cork.” 

Lucile had not smiled or looked up. She could not bear 
to see any mortification in the face of Gerald, if there were 
really any difference; for she knew he was proud and sensitive. 
Gerald understood the disturbed expression on her face, and 
smiled at the evident sympathy that she manifested for him. 

“Did you meet with success?” asked the Colonel, alluding 
to business. 

“Splendid ! Complete success.” 

“Did you take morphine, Gerald dear?” asked Mrs. Lewis. 

“I took no morphine.” 

“Dear me! what wonderful fortitude! But you are not 
like anyone else in the world, unless it be this man,” she 
said, as she laid her hand upon the Colonel’s arm. • 

“That explains why you love my uncle.” 

“You reverse the order of my affection: I love the nephew 
because he is like my first love.” 

“When Mary,” said the Colonel, smiling, “courted me — ” 

“I didn’t do it! You know I did not!” she exclaimed 
quickly, tapping him like a petted child. 

“Didn’t you, dear? Then, we will not dispute about it. 

I am ready to turn over the guardianship of Miss Lucile to 
Gerald; I cannot undertake to manage two women."' 

“I am glad you will turn me loose. You allowed me no 
opinions of my own, not even about the guardianship.” 

“Do you wish me to take the guardianship?” asked Gerald. 

“Yes,” she replied carelessly, while she continued to play 
with Percy’s hair, without glancing at Gerald. 

“I will do so upon one condition; no, there must be two. 
First, you are not to marry without my consent.” 


THE NOVICE, 


309 


He waited for her objections to that, before proceeding. 

“You must expect me to captivate all the burglars and 
train wreckers,” she said, laughing, 

“And the other condition is, when you do marry, there 
must be a marriage contract that will give ycu the sole 
possession of your estate.” 

“Gerald,” — This was another lapsus linguae that added a 
deeper tinge to her blushes — “1 don’t mind the first condi- 
tion one bit, but the last^owXd be an insult to the man whose 
integrity 1 must not doubt.” 

“Lucile, it is best;” said the Colonel, “for even the most 
honest of men are often tempted to speculate with money 
left in their care.” 

“1 don’t care for that; if he chanced to make a mistake 
of that sort, I would bear poverty with him: I never could 
chide one that 1 loved.” 

She spoke earnestly, and Gerald was much surprised. 
How different this was from the playful assertions in her 
letters ! There was no jest in that serious face; this was not 
play, but business. 

“Smitten at last,” whispered the Colonel; then he said 
aloud, “Come, Mary, I wish to show you a banana bud that 
I ordered to be sent here; 1 think it has come. One flower 
makes fruit around the stem, then another flower forms the 
next circular cluster, and so on to the top of the stalk.” 

“1 am so glad that you ordered it. Let’s leave these two 
to settle their dispute: property causes more hard feeling 
than pleasure, anyhow; don’t you think so?” 

“She’s right,” said Lucile, looking at her as they went out. 

“There is no hard feeling between us.’-’ 

“Oh, no ! But in regard to your last proposition. I’d rather 
be poor than to doubt one I loved, or to be doubted by him.” 

“He will never doubt you," he said low and tenderly. 


310 


THE NOVICE. 


“I hope not,” she murmured. 

“Must I decline the position?” 

'‘No, indeed! I prefer you would not give it up.” 

“Then it is settled: 1 am to be your guardian.” 

“Yes, for the present.” 

“1 have much business here, which cannot be delayed. I 
shall leave my ward in the care of my uncle; he will attend 
you to places of amusement. Mary will continue to be your 
chaperon; I may find time to run up to see you now and 
then. Make my adieus to the others.” 

“You are not going to leave the city?” 

“I may leave the city, but 1 shall not be far away.” 

“I am sorry that you leave so soon.” 

“Pray for me, Lucile. I have need of your prayers; my 
success depends upon prayer.” 

He was gone. Lucile sighed, then murmured to herself, 
“His going so suddenly takes away all the pleasure of his 
coming. He has not told me one word about his sufferings 
while in Europe, Why is he so reticent? He has some 
care or trouble that he withholds from his friends. Why is 
he so anxious about my future? I cannot understand him. 
Does he think I am a fool?” 


CHAPTER XXXIL 
The Convent. 

S Gerald passed down the street, he took out a small 
tablet to find the address of Father Jerome. He was 
the priest whom Lucile had learned to revere, and to whom 
she had made confession during the last few months while 
she was in the convent. To him she had made known her 
entire history, except the possession of her jewels and the 
place of their concealment. Fortunately, that important 
functionary was not engaged at the hour when Gerald called. 

“Mr. Bradford, I think I should have known you without 
reference to your^ard.” 

This he still held in his hand when Gerald was ushered into 
his presence. He was smiling, as if he did not expect to be 
bored by his visitor. 

“Thank you; it is a compliment to be remembered by 
strangers, who have no special interest in us.” 

“I am deeply interested in your cause. But the memory 
of some faces is like a gleam of sunlight on a somber day.” 

“You are disposed to be complimentary; some faces leave 
an impression that we would gladly forget.” 

“Faces are good indexes of character.” 

“That brings to mind Malin’s face. When I was here last, 
you refused to express any opinion concerning the man.” 

“That silence was caused by my respect for his sacred 
office.” 

“We should certainly have reverence for all clergymen, 
whether they reach our standard or not.” 

“We should also render homage to those who exercise 
civil authority.” 



312 


THE NOVICE, 


“I thought Malin was an impostor, but he possessed the 
ornaments and symbolical instruments of his order, even the 
chasuble with which he was vested during his ordination.” 
“He may have been ordained in some foreign country, 
but he proved unfaithful to the trust reposed in him.” 

Gerald took from his pocket some documents, which he 
looked over quietly. This priest was a silent observer; he 
wondered what special business drew this lawyer to his quiet 
domicile. Gerald was the first to break the silence.. 

“When I visited you before, you refused me permission 
to visit certain corridors in the north wing of the Ursuline 
Convent.” 

“You gave me no special reason for your proposed visit: 
a portion of the old part is reserved for some nuns, who 
receive no visitors.” 

“Under no circumstances?” 

“No one ever enters there except parents who bring 
daughters to place in the care of the Mother Superior.” 

“The extreme northern portion is not occupied by the 
sisterhood,” said Gerald. 

“That portion had fallen into decay, and was abandoned 
some years ago, there being ample room in the additions 
built at a later period.” 

“There was another occupant.” 

“Yes; a suite of rooms was leased, but they were never 
occupied by the lessee.” 

Gerald wondered if this statemient was made in order to 
evade the truth. He was silently weighing the sin of evasion 
against the betrayal of confidence. As the priest said no 
more, Gerald was too polite to question him any further. 
Inquisitive people are generally careless meddlers; the infor- 
mation they squeeze out of quiet persons, is usually repeated 
at every corner, with continued exaggerations. 


THE NOVICE. 


313 


Father Jerome knew how to retain his reticence, and 
Gerald knew when his information was voluntarily given. 
He handed this priest a foreign letter. 

“Ah ! the seal of a bishop.” He opened and read it. 

“Then, you know this Italian count,” said Father Jerome. 

“Yes; I met him while in Europe.” 

“Do you know the history of his daughter?” 

“I do.” 

“I see from this letter that the father desires you to visit 
his daughter; her mental condition has not improved.” 

“Is she harmless?” asked Gerald. 

He was thinking of having Lucile accompany him. 

“She is usually perfectly harmless. You can take this 
letter when you desire to make the required inspection.” 

“When I was here last, I knew that you had received the 
confession of a man who had yellow fever, and was not ex- 
pected to live. He did live. When this man was on the 
witness stand, he betrayed some knowledge of the fate of 
Mrs. Mary Jerningham, which he dared not reveal. He 
was so much afraid of the other witness that no amount of 
money could tempt him.” 

The priest closed his lips firmly, and shook his head. 

“In his confession,” continued Gerald, as if he had not 
noticed the face of the man, “you evaded, but did not deny, 
that he had confessed some information about her.” 

Still the priest did not reply. 

“At that time you gave me a book that contained a 
chapter on confessions, from which I gathered some facts. 

I quote you the exact language: ‘No priest can hear con- 
fessions or give a valid absolution, except to a person in 
danger of death, unless he has jurisdiction from the bishop 
or other ecclesiastical authority of the diocese; and such 
jurisdiction is more or less limited by reservations to the 


314 


THE NOVICE. 


bishop or sovereign pontiff. A priest is forbidden to divulge 
anything disclosed under the seal of confession, even when 
questioned in a court of justice, under the severest ecclesias- 
tical penalties; and he may not even speak to the penitent 
of the sins he has confessed, outside of the confessional.’ ” 

Father Jerome sat with bowed head, as if prepared to 
refuse an urgent request or reject an insulting bribe. 

“1 visited the bishop of this diocese,” continued Gerald, 
when the priest looked up with some degree of interest, “and 
he refused to jeopardize a human life by giving permission 
for you to tell me.” 

“They were not murdered,” said the priest, “and why 
should I endanger the life of an innocent man?” 

“Though your bishop refused that responsibility, he gave 
me a letter to that foreign bishop, who consulted his holiness, 
the Pope. I found access to the Vatican, where I received 
some documents that you may be able to understand.” 

Gerald handed Father Jerome the papers that the bishop 
had procured for him. 

“Then the communication must be verbal. I never write 
anything that should be kept a secret; a written document 
if lost, might be found by one who would use its contents 
to injure another.” 

“That is usually the best manner of communication.” 

“That man knew all the circumstances of the return of 
Col. Jerningham when he came back from the V/est.” 

“Indeed !” 

“A letter was sent to Col. Jerningham, stating that a 
clairvoyant had a vision, in which she saw his wife, who was 
still alive; and if a large sum of money was paid, his wife 
would be delivered to him.” 

“This pretended clairvoyant must have been a tool of 
others, who were to receive the reward.” 


THE NOVICE. 


315 


“The clairvoyant directed him to Last Island; he visited 
the place, accompanied by a number of policemen. They 
must have anticipated such a guard: for when they reached 
the island, there were no men visible, though they searched 
for them. They found only one old woman, who seemed to 
act as a servant to Mrs. Jerningham. The servant knew 
nothing, except that she was employed by some men to take 
care of the lady. They paid her good wages, and then left, 
saying that she would soon have plenty of company.” 

“They did not tell her who was expected?” 

“No; Col. Jerningham found his wife to be a hopeless 
imbecile, and near her was an opium bottle nearly empty. 
Her life was ebbing away.” 

“Lucile has always thought that Madame Larrone had 
given her either morphine or some other form of opium.” 

“A gathering storm caused a hurried departure for the 
mainland; but, before they reached th6 shore, the small sail- 
boat capsized. The frantic wife clung to her husband, while 
the rest swam ashore. The violence of the wind made 
swimming difficult for the strongest there; but he was heard 
to say, ‘Thank God, we shall leave life together! Heavenly 
Father, receive us !’ ” 

“It was a sad recital.” 

“It was better so.” 

“Yes; better to have died: his remaining years would have 
been full of grief for a wife worse than dead.” 

“There were other men besides the man that confessed 
to me, who knew the fate of Col. Jerningham and his wife.” 

“Yes; but they did not know where she was when he 
came back. The witness in court was forced to swear that 
it was Mrs. Lola Jerningham, and not Mrs. Mary Jerningham, 
that was drowned.” 

“This Madame Lola Larrone was killed in Europe by — ” 


316 


THE NOVICE. 


“Yes, I know;” interrupted Gerald, “she was killed by that 
count’s daughter.” 

“That man knew of the letter sent by the clairvoyant. 
And he knew that the sailboat was lost, and why they went 
to the island. From the policemen who escaped to shore, 

I obtained the names of the lost.” 

Gerald stood on the steps of the post office, reading a 
letter from Dr. Winston, which had been forwarded from 
one post office to another. As he was anxious to hear from 
home, he could not wait to reach his hotel before opening it. 

The letter contained an earnest request that Gerald would 
so arrange his business as to reach home by the middle of 
January, to act as an attendant at his approaching marriage. 
Gerald expected to return home very soon; but it was then 
the middle of the month, and he had not named the date. 

“Too late!” said Gerald aloud. 

“What’s too late, my boy?” asked some one, grasping 
his arm, “it is never too late to do good, and I am a living 
proof that it is not too late in life to marry.” 

“Uncle!” exclaimed Gerald with some surprise, “I am 
glad to see you. I was just reading a letter from Ralph 
Winston, in which he invites me to his marriage, and I fear 
the invitation comes too late.” 

“What is the time appointed? I don’t see how Ralph 
could take such an important step when you are away.” 

“The letter was written in December, but the date was not 
stated. Of course, he expected to write again when he heard 
from me.” 

“Go by all means; he will be sure to postpone it.” 

“I have business appointments that cannot be delayed.” 

“That is it: too busy yourself to take time to marry.” 

“You have your neck in the matrimonial noose, and you 
want to draw me into it in order to be sure of sympathy.” 


THE NOVICE. 


317 


“Every man should marry. Women are the alleviators 
of our cares; they are our solace when afflictions come; they 
lift the banner of hope when we are ready to despair; they 
divert us from temptation; they remind us that God is a 
present help in time of need.” 

“It is wonderful how much you have learned in so short a 
time; you have been married but two or three months.” 

“Well, that is beyond the honeymoon.” 

As the two men walked up the street, Gerald noticed that 
his uncle seemed to be more cheerful and in better health. 

“Well, you see, I take my meals at regular times now. 
Before, when I was busy, I thought more of my convenience 
than of my health.” 

“Now, you never keep Mary waiting.” 

“You would have me believe that love is a wonderful 
motive power.” 

“No; she won’t eat until I come; I can’t disappoint her.” 

“Love renders the marriage tie indissoluble: divorces do 
not result from love matches.” 

“Ha! ha!” laughed Gerald, “I find that it has changed a 
grim bachelor into a jolly schoolboy.” 

“It is high time to cultivate your affections before the 
wrinkles set in: there is not much difference in our ages.” 

“I have no time to indulge in the tender passion,” 

“There you are wrong. I leave care and business at my 
office; the cheerful fireside helps me to regain my mental 
equilibrium, and my nerves recover proper tone and vigor,” 

“I am glad your marriage is not a failure, but the risk is 
too great for me.” 

“You will go to Winston’s wedding?” 

“Oh, yes; I will have to go. I have business to look after 
at home just at this tim'e, anyway.” 

“But you will come back in time for Mardi gras?” 


318 


THE NOVICE. 


“What do I care for such an exhibition as that?” 

“People will flock from all parts of the country; you may 
find friends that you have not seen for a long time.” 

“By the way, who are spending the winter here?” 

“Some are here from Atlanta, some from Mississippi.” 

“Has Lucile met any of them?” 

“Certainly! She has plenty of friends; you are losing a 
chance.” 

“A chance to marry? If marriage means idleness, I will 
stay single.” 

“Do you suppose I am idling my time here? I rented a 
temporary office to transact the business that brought me 
here.” 

“Why did you impose that guardianship upon me? Have 
you less time than I have?” 

“I wanted to save time for both. Marry her, and the 
business may be deferred.” 

Gerald’s face grew cold and stern. 

“I thought you were an advocate for love matches, and 
now you advise me to marry for convenience. You forget 
it takes two to make a match.” 

“Well, there are two of you.” 

“I heard her say she still had objections to your plans.” 

“So she did; but how do you know to what she referred?” 

“I knew you were speaking of a marriage between us. 

I suppose she was trying to get rid of your persistence.” 

“Two of the most obstinate people I ever saw.” 

Gerald made no reply. The Colonel looked forward, 
smiled, and lifted his hat gallantly. 

“That’s the loveliest woman in the world,” said he, turn- 
ing to Gerald. 

“Umph! there may be one loveliest for every man. Who 
is this second loveliest you have found?” 


THE NOVICE. 


319 


“It is the same one. of course; didn’t you see Mary wave 
that handkerchief?” 

“Is the fluttering of a bit of lace worthy of your public 
demonstration?” 

“What a cynic you are ! I dare say everyone who saw it 
smiled enviously: love is so contagious.” 

“Contagious, indeed! Do you think every man on the 
street fell in love with your wife?” 

“No; but they would like to have some dear one wave to 
them. You would have felt very differently if—” 

Gerald turned to look at him. 

“If what?” 

“If Miss Mallie Raymond had been waving to you.” 

“Yes; I dare say. Is she coming to Mardi gras?” 

“I think she is.” 

“In six months more, you may be chiding Mary for her 
extravagance; is it not better to put a checkrein on her now?” 

“Ah, Gerald! would you sow the seeds of discord by 
creating suspicion?” 

“No, indeed! Forgive me; I intended only a timely hint 
for the sake of future peace.” 

“She consults me about all the minutiae of any kind of 
expenditure; she prefers to be like a dependent child that 
tries to please those it loves.” 

“All women are not alike.” 

“All men are certainly not alike.” 

“I agree with you; for if they were alike, they would all 
want a wife like yours.” 

“Here we are. Are you too busy to come in?” 

Gerald was looking up at the window of their private parlor. 
The Colonel saw that his pretended cynicism was melting 
before the smiles of another face there. His business did 
not hurry him past. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

Mardi Gras. 

^UCILE, I think Gerald has come to ask you to join him 
^on a float of Punch and Judy, and I insist upon your 
wearing the same costume with which you captivated that 
countryman when you sat in the gallery of the court room.’' 

“I have no ambition to be exhibited in public.” 

“If he had said Diana or Minerva, you might not have 
objected to the publicity.” 

“As my guardian, I think yow would object.” 

“Will you attend the masquerade ball, too?” asked Gerald. 

“Do you consent?” 

“Of course, she will;” interrupted Mrs. Lewis, “Gerald, 
you know her church does not forbid such things.” 

“I do not consent;” said he gravely to Lucile, “a pro- 
miscuous crowd of the evil and the good, the refined and 
the coarse, the innocent and the treacherous, — all masked, 
jostling, gabbling. There is no means of discriminating one 
class from another.” 

“You can go with her,” said the Colonel. 

“Will you go under my protection as your escort?” 

“No,” said Lucile. 

“No? Then, you can’t go,” said he sharply. 

“Mary, you can’t go either,” said the Colonel, tapping her 
shoulder. 

“Why not?” 

“I can’t have masked strangers kissing my wife,” 

“Gerald, Mallie is coming; you may have to escort her, 
if you do not object to the promiscuous kissing, which the 
Colonel seems to think inevitable.” 


THE NOVICE. 


321 


“I am not her guardian,” 

“You may be more before the season is over.” 

“Does Miss Mallie contempiate making the proposal?” 

“One would suppose the affair settled; it is rumored she 
has ordered her trousseau from Worth,” 

“Indeed ! Did she expect me to bring it?” 

“Ridiculous !” said Mrs. Lewis, “Gerald, if one you loved 
should propose, would you accept and marry her?” 

“I certainly would not; that one bold act would forever 
quench the flame of love, if it ever existed.” 

“Then. I must warn all of the girls: this is a fast age; many 
thoughtless ones imitate those who are bolder and ruder.” 

“Lucile,” said Gerald, taking a seat near her, “I came 
to-day to ask you to describe the location of that casket.” 

Gerald spoke low, but Mrs. Lewis caught the last word. 

“Casket? Who is dead?” she asked. 

“It is not a burial casket of which we are speaking.” 

The Colonel and Mrs. Lewis found some pretext for leaving 
the room, when they saw Gerald was not inclined to explain. 

Lucile studied, and made diagrams on her handkerchief; 
then she erased, tried again, and crossed out the lines, saying, 
“I cannot describe the place so that you could find it.” 

“Let me see,” said Gerald. 

He took the bit of cambric and lace; he turned it in various 
ways, and compared the two diagrams; then he put it in his 
vest pocket, saying, “I will carry it for a guide.” 

“I think you will not glean any idea of the place from 
those lines.” 

“There was some mystery connected with that old wing, 
which you promised to tell me sometime.” 

“Mr. Bradford,” — he shook his head at the name, but 
she only smiled — “I do not like to expose my weakness, 
even to a brother.” 


222 


THE NOVICE, 


“I may be able to explain that which appeared to be super- 
natural.” 

'‘It was not supernatural but, at least, terrible.” 

‘•‘I may know more about that place than you suppose.’" 

-‘What is it that you do not know?” 

“One thinj connected with my future plans I do not know; 
and that, above all things else, I desire to know.” 

His tones were low and desponding. 

“Pray to the Omnicient Father,’" said Lucile. 

“I am debarred, by a promise, from seeking to know.” 

“Then, the knowledge may be fatal to your happiness; and 
that, perhaps, is the reason why the knowledge is withheld.’" 

“Can it be so?” he asked, pale with suppressed emotion. 

“We are never debarred from praying to the Father.” 

“No; nothing can hinder prayer,” said Gerald, rallying 
from an oppressive thought. 

“Now,” said he, “tell me about those cells and corridors, 
and what you saw.” ' 

“I will tell you the whole story. Fortunately, I put the 
casket in my satchel when I left college; and it never was 
unclasped from my belt while traveling. My trunk I never 
saw after I reached the convent. Madame Larrone averred 
that it was lost. Father Malin continued to threaten me 
because I did not give up mother’s jewels to him. Before 
leaving the convent, I changed their place of concealment. 
I could not risk keeping them with me, or where I slept. 
One night, while the whole house was still in slumber, I took 
matches and a small lantern; I passed through the chapel, 
and wound through various corridors where I had been before 
In the daytime, after my devotional exercises in the chapel. 
I lighted the lantern as soon as I left the chapel door; in a 
remote unused cell, which had but little light even on bright 
days, I took out one brick, and removed another back of it. 


THE NOVICE. 


323 


The casket fitted easily into the cavity left by the second 
brick; I replaced the first brick, and wedged it with fragments 
of the other, I removed every particle of the broken brick 
left, to a place where the wall was broken, and some other 
loose bricks were lying. As 1 returned, I began to feel some 
doubt about the direction I ought to take; I saw a faint light 
far ahead; 1 thought it might be some devotee in the chapel, 
! decided to go to the door, and creep through as quietly as 
possible. As I drew near the light, oh!' — ” 

Lucile shivered, and put her hands over her eyes, 
“Lucile,” said Gerald, taking her cold hand in his, '‘that 
frightful experience has rendered you morbidly sensitive to 
fear; you know I would protect you, even if it cost my life.” 

“I am afraid of nothing when with you; I told you I would 
expose my weakness, and you will think me superstitious.” 
“I will dispel all your fears when you tell me everything,” 
"I hope it is possible.” 

“You must trust me in some things,” 

“In all things and always,” 

“At least, until you marry.” 

She smiled as she looked at him; his face was grave and 
sad. He took out his watch, and said, “Finish your story.” 

“When I came nearer that light, there was a frightful 
scream. I turned to the cross corridor, from whence the 
light shone. There stood a woman in black; her eyes were 
distended, her mouth wide open, and her features as rigid 
as if she were frozen. Gazing intently at me, she cried 
out, ‘Lola! Lola!’ and wrung her hands piteously. She 
uttered some Italian vociferations while waving for me to 
go back. I rushed away, fearing that she would turn and 
follow me. In my haste, I dropped the lantern and fell.” 

Lucile was panting; she turned to look at Gerald fcr 
encouragement. He was laughing. 


324 


THE NOVICE. 


'“Now, you think this was a dream,” said she, 

‘■‘No, really, I do not; I know it was reality.” 

‘■•Then, ho'v can you be so heartless as to laugh?” 

‘■‘In spite of your horror, this narrative has a very ludicrous 
side for me,” 

‘"There are several sides to your feelings: sometimes you 
are tender and delicate in your sympathy; at other times you 
are cold and stern, ard now you sre — ” 

‘■"Don’t say it ! You are unjust.” 

‘“No; I will say no more: you have some reason that you 
will explain.’' 

"‘Ah, Lucile ! how many phases your temper has!” 

Tears came to her eyes, but she was determined not to 
pout. She asked, “Which is more culpable, the one that 
sheds tears, or the one that causes them to flow?” 

"Y ou must be the judge. Will you not tell me if you ever 
got out of that haunted corridor?” 

"‘Hew can I finish now?” 

"‘Lend me your handkerchief, I think I have not cried 
since my mother spanked mie, but I will go through the mo- 
tion just to show you that I have some sympathy for you.’” 

She was h^lf -pouting, but continued to relate her story. 

“I did not recover consciousness till the sunlight streamed 
through the window- — ” 

“That is the time that I recover consciousness every 
morning; and if I could cry at any time, it would be when I 
am forced to get up.” 

“Well, my story is finished.” 

“What? You left yourself in those ghostly corridors.’' 

“Now, tell me why you laughed.” 

“The idea of two nervous women, frightened at the 
ghostly appearance of each other.” 

Lucile was not convinced. 


THE NOVICE. 


325 


"Lucile," said Gerald, taking her hand again, '‘I have a 
very pathetic story to tell you.” 

She withdrew her hand, and nerved herself to listen; he 
could scarcely repress a smile at this movement, 

“This ghost,” said he, “1 mean the other ghost, not you, 
is an Italian lady. She had a rival, who chafed her with 
the infidelity of their common lover. He was her betrothed, 
and in a frenzied moment she drew a stiletto and killed that 
rival.” 

“What a pity ! She ought to have killed the perfidious 
wretch, who was so unfaithful,” 

“Tell me, is your sympathy for crime any better than m/ 
lack of sympathy for a foolish mistake?” 

“Both are wrong; you never spare my faults,” 

“Nor do I ever flatter you,” 

“How came that woman in this country?” 

“Her father is a nobleman; he was a prominent Catholic, 
who knew the Mother Superior before she came over to 
this country; and he brought his daughter to her for safe 
keeping,” 

“I cannot believe that this Mother Superior would help to 
screen a criminal from justice, even if she is the daughter 
of a nobleman; for this Mother is devotedly pious.” 

“She, this daughter, was found to be insane; and she was 
brought to this country to escape the fury of the dead 
woman’s relatives.” 

“Why did they place her there instead of in an asylum?” 

“If her reason should return, she would be in a safe place.” 

“Would she be tried again if her mind were restored?” 

“No one can be tried twice for the same offense.” 

“I should think a man with your logical mind would enjoy 
the practice of law.” 

“Every profession has its enjoyable side.” 


326 


THE NOVICE. 


“And its rough side, too; think of a physician having to 
ride through wintry days and stormy nights.” 

“What about law?” 

“Did I tell you that Mallie Raymond was coming?” 

“What has her coming to do with law?” 

“Nothing with the law, but much with the lawyer." 

“As you have broached the subject, I wish to consult you.” 

Lucile was looking far off into the distance, as if there 
were no houses to bound her vision, no moving throng of 
people intervening in the street without. 

“Do you think a man with a cork foot ought to address 
the woman he loves devotedly, when there are so many men 
who are his equals, perhaps his superiors, in everything—” 
his voice became low and thrilling; after a pause he con- 
tinued — ■“except in the depth and strength of his love?” 

“If she loves you,” — her voice trembled in spite of much 
self-control — ^“your affliction would add to the tenderness 
of her affection,” 

“Do you think so?” 

She did not reply. Tears, real tears, forced their way 
down her cheeks; and how could she ask him for her hand- 
kerchief? He had placed it with its diagrams in his vest 
pocket. Well, her fancy apron might do if, by some ma- 
neuver unseen by him, she could get one corner up to 
remove the falling tears, while he was oblivious to every- 
thing except his love affairs, 

“How do you know?” said he, quickly turning to her. 

Instead of looking dejected, he was smiling. He was an 
anomaly, anyhow, 

“By my womanly intuition.” 

“He picked up the damp corner of her apron, and carried 
it to his lips. 

“Did you shed your sympathy on this corner?” 


THE NOVICE, 


327 


"Yes; a sister's sympathy,” 

"Well, let me tell you: my foot is sound and well; I have 
no cork foot; it was entirely well before I went to Europe.” 

"Thank God! but how provoking you are! Why didn’t 
you tell me before? I was troubled about that foot all the 
time you were in Europe,” 

"I saw your anxiety when Percy stepped on the left foot.” 

"You shall not worry Mallie Raymond about that foot, as 
you have done me.” 

"You need not tell her; she never will have the chance of 
rejecting a cork foot of mine,” 

"Perhaps you have told her before this,” 

Lucile was unconscious of the smiling face, and the eyes 
that read her expression so correctly. 

"Lucile, you must be ready to go with me to see that 
ghost, and to remove that brick.” ^ • 

"I am so glad that you can go!” 

She clasped her hands tightly together. 

"I am glad to find an opportunity to go,” 

"Have you inquired about the possibility of an entrance 
there? That wing was forbidden ground even to some of 
the inmates,” 

“Forbidden deeds bring certain punishment; my father, 
said so when he found me up an apple tree,” 

"Did he' punish you?” 

"No; but the doctor did.” 

"You mean that I suffered because I ventured into the 
ruined wing?” 

"The Mother Superior might have consented for you to 
walk there, if you had asked her.” 

"I feared to tell either Mother Superior or Father Jerome 
that I wished to go there.” 

"Never fear to do right: God will sustain you.” 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

The Ghost. 

F ather JEROME, I am glad you are so willing to be 
disturbed by a visitor; your time is usually monopolized.” 
“ ‘An idle brain is the Devil’s workshop.’ ” 

“That proverb was intended for a class of people very dif- 
ferent from the one to which you belong,” 

“All idlers fall into sin; we have one day out of seven to 
rest, not to idle away uselessly. We must give an account 
of the moments as they fly.” 

“Then, idleness is a sin,” 

“There are many sins that parents seem to ignore in the 
training of their children,” 

“They sometimes deceive their children, and then punish 
them for lying.” 

“The culprit upon the scaffold often traces his downfall 
to those that trained him in early life.” 

“I should think the confessional would reveal many mis- 
takes of parents.” 

“A priest understands the frailties of humanity.” 

“May I trouble you for those documents?” 

“Yes; but I hope this will not be the last of your visits.” 
“My business in the city is almost finished.”- 
“You will afford me much pleasure by calling the last of 
this week; I have an important communication to make.” 

“Thank you. Can I visit that part of the Ursuline Con- 
vent this afternoon, at four o’clock?” 

“Do so. The Mother Superior will take you to that suite 
of rooms in the north wing.” 

“Thank you. Good day.” 


THE NOVICE. 


329 


At the appointed hour, Gerald and Lucile visited the old 
Ursuline Convent. The Mother Superior led the way through 
the long, winding, crossing corridors. Father Jerome had 
explained to the Mother Superior the object of Gerald’s visit, 
and she was willing to give him any information he desired. 

Lucile was watching everywhere for the marks, which, 
though too small to be observed by others, were remem- 
bered and well understood by herself. One corridor was 
marked A, at a certain distance from the first corner; then 
a second one on the same side, at the same distance from 
the next corner, was marked B; a third was designated C. 
When the Mother Superior took a different direction, Lucile 
dropped behind them, saying to Gerald, “Two strangers 
might excite her; I will not go on.” 

As the two walked on, Gerald gathered all the informa- 
tion possible. 

“Is she not afraid to dwell here alone?” asked Gerald. 

“She prefers to be alone; she will trust no one; she sus- 
pects that everyone she sees, is an accomplice that her 
enemies have sent.” 

~ “Does she ever allude to her crime or her victim?” 

“Ah, yes! She says Lola comes every night, and she 
remains awake to drive her away by incantations.” 

“Is she ever dangerous?” 

“In her moments of frenzy, she screams; then we dare 
not go near her.” 

“Is she calm during the day?” 

“Perfectly so.” 

“How does she spend her time?” 

“She has musical instruments, which she handles skill- 
fully. Her instruments are those of her native land: one 
she calls a chitarra; the other, a mandola.” 

“Does she sing well?” 


230 


THE NOVICE, 


‘“Ah ! rs there an Italian who does not sing divinely? God 
has blessed the nation with voices well suited to chant his 
praises when they worship," said the Mother Superior. 

“Does this woman read?’'" 

“Only her prayer book," 

“A variety of books might divert her mind,’" 

“Here we are at the entrance to her suite of rooms; do 
you speak Italian?" 

“No; I speak French.’" 

“That will do; she understands French." 

As these two took an opposite direction from the one that 
Luclle Intended to take, she now turned to her letter C, and 
wandered on. She found D In another corridor; then she 
found E farther on; F was visible, though the daylight grew 
fainter In those dark recesses. 

“Now, If I can find the golden seventh, or letter G, Yes; 
here It Is, I think." 

She had to scan the wall all around, at a certain distance 
from the corner of that corridor, before she could find G. 

“Now I am sure ! I wish my heart would stop thumping; 
If anyone were near, he might hear its beating." 

There was no audible voice to these thoughts; she crept 
noiselessly forward. 

“Cell No. 1,2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7; now!’" 

She drew from her pocket a candle, matches, and a small 
penknife: she cut very carefully; no one must hear the 
scraping of that knife. She had wedged that brick in well; 
scrape — cut — scrape; now she can shake the brick; scrape 
—now she handles that brick tenderly, carefully; it must not 
fall; it is laid upon the floor. She hesitates — trembles. . 

“What if it is gone? That is not faith/' 

She holds up the candle; there is really the casket; she 
murmurs a prayer of thanksgiving. She is afraid for her- 


TUB noVlCB. 


'331 


self', she might cry out if her mother’s jewels are missing 
^rom the box; if they are there., she might faint. 

“This is not faith,” she repeated to herselh 

She opens the casket, and — there are the jewels just 
;as her mother placed them, each in its velvet indentations 
She kneels in prayer, thankful for the safe keeping of this 
last gift from her mother. 

She concealed the casket in her satchel, and turned to go 
back. When she reached the cross corridor, from whence 
the light shone, and where she was so shocked by a seeming 
apparition, she stopped — waited; she heard music in that 
direction. She decided to go nearer, and listen to a rare 
voice, accompanied by some instrument that sounded like a 
mandolin. She could wait there while Gerald tarried to hear 
the same music. The door was open; she crept nearer; she 
could hear Gerald’s voice now and then when the music 
ceased. She was not afraid now, for he was there. They 
were not in front of the door; where she stood, she could not 
see them. She drew nearer; now she saw the large eyes of 
her former apparition; she stepped back, but not before the 
woman saw her. Gerald had his back to the door, and the 
Mother Superior was not in sight. In an instant, the Italian 
flew past them; before Gerald could turn, there was a fear- 
ful scream from Lucile. 

The Italian darted back into the room, with a sardonic 
laugh; she still held the stiletto, which she had drawn from 
her bosom. The Mother Superior had rushed out of the 
room; and now, after the woman had gone back, she turned 
the key in the lock. 

Lucile had warded off the intended blow, and received a 
wound in her arm. Gerald was at her side in an instant, and 
was drawing the poisonous blood from a thin blade wound. 
He well knew the rapid poisoning of those Italian daggers. 


332 


THE NOVICE. 


and there was no time to be lost in procuring a physician, 
cupping instruments, or antidotes; for the deadly venom 
must not be carried with the circulating blood where it would 
soon paralyze the whole body. He quickly drew the poison 
with his lips, and spat it on the floor. The Mother Superior 
hastened to summon a physician. 

“Gerald,” said Lucile, “I fear the result to yourself more 
than the injury done to me.” 

“It is nothing; what would life be without you?’* 

“My pride dictated a prayer for the safety of my jewels, 
and my prayer was answered; 1 exulted in their possession, 
but 1 forgot to ask God to take care of me.” 

“When we are exposed to danger, we ought not to rely 
on our own strength, but pray for God’s protection.” 

“I did not rely on my strength, but yours; I even thought 
how magnificent would think they were.” 

After looking at them, he exclaimed, “They are, indeed, 
magnificent I” 

His eyes sparkled with pleasure; but he gave no evidence 
of which pleased him most, the jewels or her words. Per- 
haps, she thought that his approval as a connoisseur would 
insure the admiration of other people. 

When they reached the hotel, Gerald opened the casket. 

“A more beautiful setting could not have been designed.” 

As he spoke, he placed a coronal of gems above her brow; 
then he stepped back to observe the effect. 

“Beautiful ! Lovely as a houri !” 

Her cheeks were suffused with unwelcome blushes. Was 
he testing her amount of vanity? Was he weighing that, 
as he did her other follies? 

“You must wear them first when you are a happy bride.” 

He spoke low and tenderly, as he took her hand to pre- 
vent the removal of the sparkling jewels. 


THE NOVICE. 


333 


'*How foolish!” she exclaimed, withdrawing her hand 
from his. 

“Which is foolish, to wear gems or to be a bride?” 

“Both, both; the height of folly for me.” 

“You retain the monastic idea of severe simplicity, but 
you will surely rot become a recluse !” 

She was silent, 

“I must forbid such a thing.” 

She smiled; she liked his authority when he exercised it 
earnestly, 

“It is the height of folly,” said she, rousing up in her own 
earnestness, “yes, the very height of folly, to have thousands 
of dollars bound up in a few cold, hard jewels, whose only 
recommendation is beauty and rarity,” 

“You prefer to trace the pathetic stories written in the 
lives of beautiful, delicate flowers; their bath of dew, and 
the kiss of the zephyr when their petals are smiling up to 
the sunbeams.” 

“Very sentimental for a man who deals in the stern real- 
iiies of law.” 

“My mind is occupied with law and lawbreakers, but my 
soul dwells* in a purer atmosphere.” 

“The dewdrops, the icicles, the rainbow, are the only gem.s 
of the poor. They have neither time nor inclination to wear 
jewels whose cost would impoverish their households.” 

“The needful cup is meted. out to each.” 

“Do you think that each one gets all he deserves?” 

“God’s precious gems are the rewards of energy and in- 
dustry, and sometimes they are handed down as legacies to 
the children of those faithful toilers.” 

“If poverty should ever come, ought I to sell my jewels?” 

“Yes, by all means; sell them to keep me in cigars. I can 
exist without some luxuries, but not without cigars.” 


334 


THE NOVICE. 


Luci'Ie laughed at the fdea of this joint possession, when 
he had never even proposed to her. The brotherly privilege , 
she supposed, 

“Your nerves are demanding’ their accrustomed stimulus^ 
shall 1 ring for cigars?” 

“ By no means; my nerves have a more agreeable stimulus; 
just at present,” 

“Do you object to ornaments?” 

“Why should 1? God taught men to use ornaments whom 
he directed the Israelites to embroider the curtains of the 
tabernacle,” 

“The garments of the high priest must have been gorgeous 
with pomegranates and tinkling bells.” 

“The je’vels of the breastplate must have shown resplen- 
dent; all of his apparel, from the tall cap to the dress, girdle, 
and ephod, were of peculiar style and great magnificence,” 

“Did you offer that fragment of biblical literature as an 
excuse for wearing that diamond scarf pin?” 

“Of course, it is better to imitate holy persons, like those 
priests, than to follow the example of the low and vicious.” 

“The women were directed in gospel days to use ‘modest 
apparel,’ instead of ‘costly array.’ ” 

“That was intended as a reproof for their vanity.” 

“Remember your own maxim: ‘The motive, not the act. 
brings condemnation.’ ” 

“We are responsible for our motives as well as our acts.” 

“Some acts, though unpremeditated, bring punishment 
even in this world: disease is usually the result of some 
broken law of nature; such laws, though broken through 
ignorance, demand no light penalty.” 

“Are we not responsible for our ignorance?” 

“I recall the saying of St. James: ‘If any lack wisdom, 
let him ask God, that giveth to all men liberally.’ ” 


THE NOVICE. 


335 


“These jewels have not become tarnished in the least,” 
said Gerald, taking them up one by one, and placing them 
in the casket. Then he continued, “Women have the 
power to win and retain a crown of jewels richer and rarer, 
by far, than any combination of earthly gems,— much more 
attractive and of longer duration,” 

“Do you mean Christian virtues,^” 

“I do: they are the only gems that we can carry into 
heaven,” 

As Gerald fastened the casket and handed it to Lucile, 
she said, “I would not care to waste money on costly jewels, 
but I prize these because my mother wore them.” 

“There was no sin in the desire to recover them, nor in 
the possession of them.” 

“The jewels of the rich often form an important part of 
their wealth,” 

“It is capital that brings no interest.” 

■“It is the talent laid up in a napkin.” 

Lucile began to press her hand over the wound on her arm; 
there was pain whenever she moved her elbow. Gerald 
arose and handed her a vial. “The physician directed you 
to pour this on your arm when it pained you,” said he. 

“Gerald, I understand this wound to be a punishment for 
that omission in prayer. I placed my trust in you, instead of 
in God.” 

If Gerald was flattered, he gave no sign; he was recall- 
ing an incident. 

“Lucile,” said he, “I had a similar experience, of which 
I never told you. When it was stated on the train that a 
collision with a freight train was imminent, an evangelist 
arose, and said, ‘Let us pray.’ The men were too frantic 
to heed him; they were planning to save themselves in some 
way; only a few women bowed in prayer. His voice was 


336 


THE NCVICE. 


drowned by the screams of the other women; the wild con- 
jectures of the men added to the horror and confusion.” 

“What did you do?” 

“Like the rest of the men, I was calculating the chances 
for jumping off; but the doors were barricaded by a dense 
wall of immovable men. I had but a moment to think, for 
we were going down grade as if rushing into eternity.” 

“Did the evangelist and the praying women escape?” 

“Strange to say, not one v/as hurt.” 

“Not strange, Gerald; surely, it was an answer to prayer.” 

“More wonderful than strange; for lamps, seats, window 
glass, and human beings were in one mass.” 

“Comparatively few people have been killed by cyclones; 
thousands have attributed their escape to earnest prayer.” 

“The commiotion during the flood must have been just 
the same, and the last day on earth may find many too 
startled even to pray.” 

“Would prayer, so long deferred, avail at such a time?” 

“I fear not; the risk is too great.” 

“After all, that accident must have proved a blessing in 
disguise for you.” 

“It certainly was;” he said with a smile, “it gave me a 
dear, kind sister.” 

“Not that, for every obligation has been fully canceled; 
I meant you are now more zealous for the cause of Christ.” 

“God has to drive us into the line of duty, by scourging 
us with an accident or a disease.” 

“Ofttimes I thought you were disgusted by my religious 
enthusiasm; I even thought you mocked me when I gave 
my conscientious scruples as a reason for any act that you 
condemned.” 

“Ah ! that was when you first came to us; I wanted to test 
your sincerity, and find out if you were superstitious.” 


THE NOVICE. 


337 


‘'Don’t speak of that; you have had evidence of my weak- 
ness in that convent horror.” 

“You must forgive and forget everything I have said or 
done, that offended you. Will you not?” 

She could not resist that appealing look, or the tender 
pathos of his voice. She knew the recollection brought 
more pain to him than to her. 

“I could not understand you then, but I have forgiven 
you long ago.” 

“Thank you. Your piety and simple faith was a constant 
reproof to me then, and I resented it with ridicule.” 

“I think I have read somewhere that those who are skep- 
tical, feel a twinge of conscience while contending for their 
creed, and in after days, are sometimes drawn to Christ.” 

“I was not skeptical myself, but too much engrossed with 
business affairs to spend much time or thought on the culti- 
vation of Christian virtues,” 

“I thought your piety was deposited in your church pew, 
and you opened and read it as you did your hymn book.” 

“You are severely original.” 

“When I knew of your benevolent schemes, which were 
so well carried out in the Pauper Home and the Workhouse 
for the Friendless, I thought that — ” 

“What, then? Did you think I was trying to build a 
monument in the memories of the present generation?” 

“I really did think so. Now I see how much mistaken I 
was about the pew; for you were then carrying some of the 
leaves of your piety, from church to your office.” 

“You soon provoked me to good works.” 

“You could never have been persuaded.’' 

“I have an idea that you will never be persuaded, either.” 

“Mr. Bradford, did not Col. Lewis tell you what disposi- 
tion to make of one half of my estate?” 


338 


THE NOVICE. 


“I must do as the /^7W/ directs/’ 

“But you will do that, won’t you?” 

“When the time comes for any changes, I shall msfst 
upon a marriage contract that will leave the whole estate- 
under your own control.” 

“Then, you can set aside that halfr and 70W, as agent for 
the fund, will continue to manage the business for me.” 

“Do you think that I will interfere with your husband in 
the management of your estate?’" 

“You are the most provoking man I ever saw.”' 

She was thoroughly angry; he was amused. 

“You are planning to get me into a duel.” 

“We are always at daggers’ points, anyway/' 

“We? Whew! I meant the other man/’ 

“The other naan is your sam.e phantom/’ 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

The Phantom. 

0 HE was exasperated by the frequent allusion to the phan* 
tom. Did Gerald expect her to be driven into matri- 
mony so that he might escape the troublesome guardianship? 
She bit her lip in vexation, as she said, “You speak of my 
marriage as a settled affair; if so, I am the ‘silent partner;’ 
J might, at least, be consulted.'’ 

“Perhaps he will consult you.” 

“Is it necessary for me to have any guardian?” 

“Of course.” 

He said this as positively as if she were a miss of ten. 

“I leave on the two-thirty train; please make my adieus 
to the other members of the family.” 

“Where shall I say you have gone?” 

“That is immaterial; business takes me away.” 

“You will not meet the friends who are coming.” 

“No matter; I cannot idle away my time with women. 

1 leave you in the care of Mr. Phantom.” 

“I need a more substantial protector during Mardi gras.” 
“Must I return to attend you?” 

“You have no time to idle away with women.” 

Gerald Bradford had taken the train just at the time he 
desired to be in the city, but he had learned long ago that 
business must be attended to before indulging in pleasure. 

“Strike while the iron is hot,” and “Heaven helps those 
who help themselves,” were maxims none the less potent for 
him on account of their age. He was making every effort 
to finish the business that he had mapped out for himself, 
before his uncle should leave for Georgia. 


340 


THE NOVICE. 


He regretted leaving Lucile to mingle with many of those 
In society, whose chief object in life is pleasure. They were 
regardless of the fact that the happiness of some others 
might be sacrificed to furnish them amusement for the pass- 
ing hour. Lucile had been out in society so short a time 
that she would be easily recognized as a novice, who did not 
suspect the motives of others, Lucile’s mind was culti- 
vated, but experience is not learned in books. She indig- 
nantly resented any effort of Gerald to flatter her; but could 
she resist the soft, luring voice and delicate attentions of 
some gay deceiver? Gerald could counteract any baneful 
influence: but his motive might be misconstrued. He thought 
that her happiness, not his, should be secured. Marriage, 
among all honorable people, is intended to be a lifetime 
union. If so, there should be a blending of tastes, a com- 
munion of thought, a holy, unchanging love that yields to 
no stronger feeling than love for God. 

As Gerald sat in the railway coach, his mind reverted to 
the terrible railroad disaster, and the train of circumstances 
that followed. During those torturing hours, he found much 
diversion in the ministrations of Lucile. Like a beautiful 
plant incrusted with ice, she began to thaw gradually; her 
real character, divested of cold haughty reserve, expanded 
pure and beautiful, like some rare flower. Gerald thought 
a halo of love was all that was needed to complete the charm 
of a face radiant with beauty. She must admire, respect, 
and trust the man for whom she could feel the least degree 
of love; for her, there would be but one love in life. Once 
deceived, the flame could never be resurrected from the 
bitter ashes of disappointment. 

The conductor had to touch Gerald before he heeded the 
request for his ticket; then there was a titter of laughter from 
four schoolgirls in the seats behind him. 


THE mVICE. 


34\ 


■“Joe, why did you disturb him?” said one of the girls. 
■“He is too handsome to be roused by any sound less 
sweet than a woman’s voice,” said another girl. 

They all giggled at her impertinence, 

“Why didn't you give him a free ride?” added another. 
“You naughty girls! This rudeness comes of your going 
to school every day on the train,” said the conductor. 
“Why, Joe, it’s jolly,” 

“Do you see my mustache?” said he reprovingly, 

“Why, yes, I do. Why don’t you pull out the gray hairs?” 
“If you think its color indicates age, it is time you were 
learning to prefix a title to my name,” 

“I will from this time forth; I’ll dub you Joe,’’ 
“That’s too bad, Jennie; let’s call him Cousin Joe,” 

“For mercy’s sake! don’t claim kin with me. I would 
under no consideration have these strangers think that I am 
related to anyone of you.” 

The conductor walked on down the aisle, feeling much 
disgusted.” 

“Come back, old Joe!” screamed one of them, 

“Do come back. Cousin Joe,” whined another with mock 
tenderness. 

“Look here !” yelled all four, holding up tempting bunches 
of grapes, and other fruits. But nothing from them could 
tempt him to return. He had an idea that nothing less than 
a convent could save them from ruin. 

“Where do such bold young women hail from, anyhow?” 
said a stern-looking old gentleman, raising his glasses. No 
one ventured to claim them as residents of the section in 
which they lived; if they knew them they were ashamed of 
their conduct. 

“The law ought to forbid girls traveling alone,” said an 
old lady. 


342 


THE NOVICE. 


“Have they any parents?” No one replied. 

“If they have, they reflect no credit on the training they 
have received.” 

“Ah!” thought Gerald, “these girls may become adepts 
in the lore of low society, as well as proficients in the slang 
of the depot. They may begin to think that truth and 
modesty have become obsolete terms, which flourished only 
in the antiquated essays of their grandmothers,” 

Such women I Incapable of loving or of being loved; 
they may succeed in marrying, but for what? Convenience, 
position, or money. Such creatures fill the docket of the 
courthouse with divorce suits too foul for publication. Ah, 
Lucile ! lovely novice ! The lines were cast for thee in safe 
places, at least. The parents of these fast girls may scoff 
at the idea of shutting in their daughters from the fashion- 
able world, to become awkward and ill-at-ease when they 
enter society. But now, not a thought of their possible ruin 
and degradation in the dangerous paths that they tread so 
carelessly. Why are not those girls ensconced in some 
college of pious teachers, where they may be led to Christ? 
What creed? No matter. All churches point the way to 
heaven. Parents may say, “It is more expensive.” True; 
but can wealth restore a lost name? “What power shall 
blanch the sullied snow of character?” Ah, Lucile ! the 
novice, artless and sincere I Surely, blessings fell upon you 
when your name was given! Lucile, light; Clare, clear. 

Gerald began to review his own course of training for her. 
It may have seemed cruel, but she had to learn that “All 
that glitters is not gold.” He was risking his own happiness; 
would she think him worse than other men when he seemed 
unjust to her? One moment he chided her; the next he 
praised her; he almost made love to her; then he spoke of 
her marriage to another; and even consulted her about that 


THE NOVICE. 


343 


marriage, as if he was entirely indifferent to her. Would 
she not consider him fickle and trifling? Would she not 
expect these changing moods and opinions to continue through 
life? Would she fear to trust herself to his keeping? Is it 
too late too win her? 

He had forbidden her to marry without his consent. He 
thought she understood his anxiety for her to escape some 
vile wretch who might win her affections. He knew that 
she would trust him implicitly in the management of her 
business affairs. Would she trust some scoundrel fortune 
hunter in the same way? He almost wished that he had 
delayed this trip; he was risking too much, indeed, every- 
thing. His meditations were interrupted by hearing some 
one say, “Harry Hughes.” He looked everywhere to see 
if his friend was aboard the train; but he did not find him, 
or discover the man who called his name, 

“Noble Harry Hughes! Handsome fellow! If you win 
my darling girl, then I shall be silent forever on the subject 
of love; for you could make her future bright and beautiful.” 

This soliloquy of Gerald was interrupted by the departure 
of those rude, disgusting schoolgirls, and the entrance of two 
drummers, who took their vacant seats. These two men 
discussed their samples, their possibilities and probabilities 
in various portions of the states that they intended to visit. 
But their tones were low; they were as anxious not to be 
heard as the girls were determined to be heard. 

Gerald gave them no second thought. Concentration was 
his peculiar gift; he could plan a law case as well on the 
noisy train as_ in his own quiet office. In his affairs he 
neither desired nor sought the opinions of others. To him 
they were a disturbing element, which, like pebbles in the 
brook, would check the tide or change the course of maturer 
thought. His mental stream must not be diverted. 


244 


THE NO VICE. 


He bought from the newsboy a paper that contained the 
funeral notice of some wealthy man. No benevolent scheme 
was mentioned, in which even a portion of that wealth played 
a prominent part. The thoughts of Gerald were engrossed 
in the charitable schemes that Lucile seemed so anxious to 
carry out. She was willing to devote all of her heritage to 
good works, and teach for her own support. 

Her parents had different ideas of life and the uses of 
money. There must have been some mistake in the lives 
of such people. They were generous in all transactions with 
their neighbors; they were kind and just to their servants; 
they were liberal in providing for the poor about them. They 
had inherited wealth, and doubled its value by safe invest- 
ments. This much he gathered from scattering conversa- 
tions with Lucile. Indeed, he had gathered mmre than she 
was conscious of betraying. They had spent large sums in 
luxurious living; they traveled more for pleasure than profit; 
they attended theaters, where the vilest of men and women 
were allowed to be on exhibition because they possessed 
either musical or histrionic talent. 

Was it right? Can we enjoy the good, and escape the 
contagion of the evil joined with it? The eye finds beauty 
in the reptile from which we shrink. Shall we draw nearer 
to gratify the eye? The nose is regaled by the fragrance 
of poisonous flowers that we dare not touch. Shall we pluck 
them for our own? Must the ear be withdrawn from the 
charm of a wonderful voice because the owner has trailed 
in the mire of sin and degradation? Must all actresses suffer 
condemnation because some have fallen? The fault may be 
in the custom, and not in the individual who loves sweet 
sounds. The governors who handle prize fighters so skill- 
fully, might use their power to forbid impure language and 
immodest apparel on the stage. 


THE NOVICE. 


345 


The Jerninghams were benevolent, but the larger portion 
of their wealth fell in useless places. They might have 
-educated many poor white children, whose parents were im- 
poverished by the war, and whose wages for constant labor 
rarely advanced above the bread-and-meat line of poverty. 

The train in which Gerald was traveling, came to a jolting 
halt at a wayside village; the depot was crowded by a motley 
throng of negroes, from ginger-cake brown to the slickest 
black. Their women, in soiled finery, were sputtering filthy 
slang, while they pushed and scuffled for front places on the 
narrow platform. Red-eyed youths staggered about the 
ticket office, with boisterous words interlarded with reckless 
oaths; or they lounged in drunken stupor against the fences, 

“Bad lot,” said Gerald to a gentleman sitting near him. 

“Ah, yes ! these are the pupils of the colored high school, 
who are off for an excursion. As they don’t pay for their 
education, they feel no obligation to attend regularly.” 

“The unsuitable education planned by mistaken philan- 
thropists, is like sowing the wind for a harvest of whirlwind.” 

“They are bewildered by expectations that they never can 
realize. Their low grade of perceptive and reasoning facul- 
ties, renders them unfit for positions to which they are taught 
to aspire. The negro should be educated in those sciences 
that pertain to his line of work as a mechanic or a farm 
laborer. He should be taught that morality is the safest rule 
of action; and that it always pays a high premium in con- 
fidence, when he is seeking for employment,” replied the 
gentleman. 

“Teach and train them properly, and the ‘race problem’ 
will solve itself,” added Gerald. 

The whistle blew, and the cars rolled on noisily; then the 
conversation ceased. The mind of Gerald reverted to his 
last knotty problem and its improbable conjectures. 


CHAPTER XXXVr, 

Gossip, 

T he two drummers had retired to the smoking car to regale 
themselves, and now they were returning to their seats, 
in animated conversation, 

“How long will Harry Hughes remain in New Orleans?’" 
“That may depend upon the success of his little scheme,” 
“Where did you say he was stopping?” 

“At the St, Charles, where the heiress boards,” 

“Umphl quite convenient !” 

For once, the curiosity of Gerald was stronger than hi's 
prejudice against eavesdroppers. These men spoke loud 
now, after that visit to the smoking car. If they desired to 
be secretive, they would speak lower; he (Gerald) would not 
stop his ears. 

“Is it a matrimonial affair?” 

“Can’t say positively; you know Harry Hughes keeps hfs 
plans to himself.” 

“Did that difficulty occur in the hotel where the girl was?” 
“No; on a Gulf steamer.” 

“Carson is a great swell. How did he offend Hughes?’" 
“He threatened to marry the heiress to pay his gambling 
debts. He said the girl could be easily won; that she was 
as lovely as an odalisque, but green as a gourd. He did not 
know that Hughes had met her.’" 

“Did Harry hear him make this threat?” 

“Yes; and he floored him Instantly.” 

'‘He did? He took Carson by surprise, then; he is game 
enough.” 

“Not enough game in him to resent it.” 


THB NOVICB. 


34 ? 


"A 'bar'king dog seldom bites.” 

"Harry gave no reason for his act, not even ’to Carson.” 

"Heigh-ho! Here is our place to get off.” 

The cars stood still only for a few moments at this depots 
and the drummers hurried out. Gerald had no time for a 
review of their conversation, for at this station many new 
travelers crowded in. An old gentleman stood in the aisle, 
beside his family, who were seated. Seats near him were 
half filled, but the occupants were oblivious of his position, 
Gerald arose, and beckoned the man to a seat with himself. 

“Fine day, sir,” 

“Very, very fine, sir; bids fair to be a good crop year.” 

The old man’s quick, impulsive tones were emphasized 
by the rubbing of his hands together. 

“The weather prophets promise cloudless skies and a clear 
atmosphere for the opening spring.” 

“Yes; I hope we will not have heavy fogs; they seem loaded 
with tonsilitis, pneumonia, and other ills.” 

“If you are a physician, those fogs are loaded with pecun- 
iary profit to you.” 

“Not a physician; far from it. I could not get a diagnosis 
of any disease; the negroes on my plantation always have 
the same symptoms— ‘sick all over.’ I have to employ a 
physician by the year to look after the sick negroes there.” 

“You are as careful with your hired hands as the ante- 
bellum planter was with his slaves.” 

“Obliged(to be so; negroes are as much opposed to paying 
doctors’ bills as they are to settling for rent.” 

A sharp-featured yankee turned and twisted in his seat, 
then finally said, “When the colored man gets five dollars 
a month for wages, and has to pay four dollars of it for rent, 
he can’t make both ends meet. Your legislators ought to 
look into this, and regulate the price of labor.” 


248 


THE NOVICE. 


“I presume, sir, that you are not familiar with Southern 
customs. Only tenants pay rent; the field laborer gets from 
ten to fifteen dollars a month, according to his merits and 
experience,” said the farmer. 

“The laws of your section need remodeling;” said Gerald, 
“you may have forgotten the poor sewing women of the 
North, who get ten cents for making a shirt that sells here 
for a dollar.” 

“So many poor persons, the demand for work brings down 
the price; that is the case everywhere,” said the yankee. 

“The price of labor is not so variable at the South; besides, 
the negro mechanics, shoemakers, and stone masons get as 
much for their work as white men, if equal in quality,” said 
the Southern farmer. 

“Ah!” said the yankee, “thriving people; they must be 
very economical, for they spend but little on dress. Poor 
economy, though; a man must dress to be respected. How 
do these thrifty colored persons invest their funds?” 

“Are you connected with a savings bank?” asked Gerald. 

“Yes, on a small scale. Anyone here wish to invest?” 

“The negroes,” said the farmer, “invest in tobacco, whisky, 
gambling, and last and most frequently, in excursions.” 

“Ah 1” said the yankee, ‘Dum uiuimus, uivamus;' no trouble 
about the future.” 

“The negroes were taught a better doctrine while they 
were slaves, and there was no foreign element to indoctrinate 
other false ideas,” said Gerald. 

“Umph!” said the yankee, shrugging his shoulders, “I 
hope your remarks are not personal; the colored man*, then, 
is a slave to the white man’s creed.” 

“Negroes are like children; they need some one to plan 
their business affairs for them, to guide them in the path of 
duty, and to lead them to Ghrist,” said the farmer. 


THE NOVICE. 


349 


“Are they like the Southern whites, in the extravagant 
supply of table luxuries?” 

“The old ex-slaves require plenty of good, well-cooked 
food; but the young negroes, who have grown up since their 
parents were set free, can live on as little as an Arab, which 
is said to be a handful of wheat per day.” 

“Many of them,” said Gerald, “live by thieving around a 
huckster’s stall; they take jobs of work when an excursion is 
in prospect.” 

“Why are they not in school? There are free schools 
everywhere.” 

“They are like some white people; they do not appreciate 
anything that costs them nothing.” 

“When the negroes were slaves, every article of clothing 
and every mouthful of food was supplied for their comfort, 
their convenience, and their enjoyment.” 

“They had no churches in slavery time, and voodooism 
was the result,” said the yankee. 

“You are mistaken about their places of worship; every 
church built for the whites was provided with a gallery for 
the negroes, or special seats below reserved for them.” 

“What did you do about the sacrament?” 

“They took sacrament from the same altar, where the 
whites preceded them. Pious negroes have often been called 
on to pray during the services. Now their places of worship, 
built especially for them, are frequently used for political 
caucuses,” said the old farmer. 

“Why are they forbidden to travel in the same coaches 
with the whites?” 

“They have separate coaches, which are preferred by all 
Southern negroes except a few who have learned, from med- 
dling politicians, false notions of social rights.” 

“You jostle them out of society.” 


350 


THE NOVICE. 


“So do their Northern friends when they come down to 
live among them. They soon find out that negroes are not 
congenial or social with any but their own race. Any famil- 
iarity of white people excites their suspicion and contempt.” 

The engine v/histle cannot settle discussions, but it often 
winds them up abruptly. The yankee vanished as soon as 
the train was motionless. 

The negro can read sympathy in the face of the Southern 
man, and authority in his tone; his obedience seems to be an 
instinctive impulse. He is, by far, the best servant found at 
the South, and is easily managed by kindness and firmness. 

The next whistle was a signal for the departure of the old 
gentleman and his family. When the cars stopped, a low, 
thickset negro, of pure African type, advanced to the plat- 
form. His broad face was full of smiles; his snowy hair was 
in striking contrast to his ebon skin. His pants were patched 
and repatched, darned and quilted, until their original color 
and texture were among his prize conundrums. 

“There is Uncle Peter!” exclaimed one of the daughters 
of the old farmer. 

“Dis am Peter, shore; don’t you ’members him?” 

“How are you. Uncle Peter?” 

“I’m allers on me foots, caze I nebber gits sick.” 

“We are glad to see you looking so well; here’s a dollar 
to keep you in tobacco.” 

“I no use bacca; I no use whisky; only cawfy.” 

“At your old trade? Your boys must be old enough to 
help you now.” 

“At de ole trade, Marse Bob; but dem boys ai’ no count.” 

“I am sorry for that; perhaps, they will get an education, 
which will help them do better work.” 

“Edication? Dat’s what spiled ’em. I sot dem boys ter 
tote rocks; fust t’ing I know, dem boys done drap de rocks. 


THB NOVICE. 


351 


an' is settin’ on de fence wid a yaller feller, what wuz gittin’ 
up a poun’ party. 1 tell dem boys dey kin take deir poun’ 
in rocks.” 

“Now, Uncle Peter, you musn’t be too hard on your boys, 
or they may run away from you.” 

“Ef dey run, I lets ’em keep runnin’; dem boys let me 
down in de well fur to wall it; I hear no talkin’; 1 calls ’em 
fur miore rocks; nobody dar. Dem boys dun run off arter 
a nigger ban’ what’s trapesin’ de street.” 

“Mischievous boys; they will learn to do better as they get 
older.” 

“Marse Bob, de niggers what goes ter school, no ’count 
fur wu’k; dey gits lazy; dey runs arter baseball; dey drinks; 
dey play kyards; dey wear rags; an’ spends money fur pistols 
an’ ’scursionsv” 

“Don’t you want your boys to go to school?” 

“ ’Pears like de school don’t larn’ ’em de t’ings what dey 
need fur to know.” 

“What do you think they ought to learn?” 

“Dey mout larn de meas’ments uv de kyarpenter, an’ de 
books ’bout de cotton an’ de corn. I hearn ole Marster say 
de books tell ’bout de time to plant ’em; an’ he knowed.” 

“Don’t you want your boys to be doctors and lawyers?” 

“De nigger ai’ got de shape head fur dem t’ings; dey’d 
be fightin’ in de cou’t whar dey is fur to settle de peace. 
And dey hab’nt de jedgmen’s which is de sick, an’ which is 
de cunju’d; an’ de debil hisself caint cure de pizoned.” 

“Education may teach them that peace is better than 
Wrangling.” 

“ ’Fore de schoolin’, dey fit wid deir fistes; now dey gouge 
wid deir knives, an’ tote roun’ deir ’cealed v/eepons.” 

“I should think that your preachers would teach them to 
have better morals.” 


352 


THE NOVICE. 


“Freed’m dun tuck de ’ligion outen de meetin’hcu^es. 
Dey talks ’bout de clubs, de ’ciety, de ’publicans, tell dar ai’ 
no time fur pra’rs. De 'ciety gits deir money, an’ uses it fur 
to bury folks.” 

“Well, that’s a good thing, Uncle Peter; you have your 
friends buried nicely.” 

“Dead folks don’t need no helpin’ arter de bref leaves ’em; 
1 ruther help de livin’. Yaw, yaw!” laughed the old man. 

“It is true the dead are always cared for, and many of the 
living are in need of all the help they can get,” 

“Ef de ’ciety do dey talkin’ an’ quit, it mout do. But de 
women quarr’ls, an’ de men fights. I don’t go dar; dey kin 
say deir say by deyselfs.” 

“Their society needs better laws and regulations.” 

“Dats de trouble; all uv ’em wants to do de reg’latin’, an’ 
dere ai’ nobody left to do de mindin’ uv de laws.” 

“Do you have any trouble in managing your workmen?” 

“De ole-time darkey do what me tell ’im; an’ de country 
nigger do what he know; but de town trash hab too much gab 
ter be any ’count.” 

“The women give less trouble with their work, don’t they?” 

“De ole women bees set up in deir house fur dey husban’s 
to work fur; an dem sassy wenches what trapeses de streets 
in dirty finery, ain’t fitten fur nuffin’. Dey spile dem boys 
what mout be some ’count.” 

“Well, Uncle Peter, do what you can to reform the rising 
generation of your race.” 

“I dun sot ’em de ’zample.” 

“Here is our carriage. We are very glad we met you.” 

“Good-by, Uncle Peter.” 

“Good-by.” 

“Good-by, and God bless you. Uncle Peter.” 

“Good-by. ’Member Peter Callaway in your pra’rs.” 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

Regrets. 

T he marriage of Ralph Winston and Inez needed no public 
demonstration to give zest to their happiness, for their 
hopes were centered solely in each other. V\/hen it was 
decided that a bridal tour would be inconvenient for Ralph, 
on account of some patients that needed his most careful 
attention, neither felt the least disappointment. Ralph had 
considered the fact that when patients were intrusted to him, 
he was in some degree responsible for their lives. 

When Gerald returned from Europe, he was in no haste to 
follow his uncle and his party to New Orleans. He had not 
written to Lucile, hence the surprise of his first visit some 
weeks previous. He had remained at his lonely home to 
remodel his house in imitation of some beautiful ones that 
he had seen while in Europe. Now, that he had returned to 
attend Ralph’s marriage, he intended to complete his designs 
before going back to his friends. As Mary and Lucile were 
absent, he was entirely dependent upon his own judgment 
and taste, in selecting colors, shades, etc. But he understood 
the harmony of colors and the general effect too well to 
make any surprising mistakes. If he was satisfied, there 
might never be anyone that would have the right to object. 
These preparations furnished a new topic for the gossips. 

What did it all mean? Would Gerald Bradford follow his 
uncle’s example? Did he contemplate renting or selling his 
place, or what? 

They wondered and conjectured, but-came to no decision 
in their own minds. Marriage seemed less probable than 
anything else. 


354 


THE NOVICE. 


Gerald completed his household arrangements; he neg- 
lected no law business that needed immediate attention; even 
the Pauper Home was not forgotten; he row felt at liberty to 
return to his friends in New Orleans. Light seemed breaking 
over his business firmament, but it failed to penetrate the 
pall of anxiety that began to shroud his soul as soon as he 
took the west-bound train. 

There was in Gerald, as in other men, a complexity of 
strength and weakness. Man, who is valiant in the day of 
battle, strong in the defense of right, bold in declaiming his 
principles, is also powerless to control his emotions when once 
the victim to the allurements of love. In merry moods, 
Gerald used the parlance of Cupid’s vacillating courtiers. 
One moment he made love to Lucile; the next he counter- 
acted its influence, and wondered if her keen perception 
penetrated beyond such dubious raillery. If he had ventured 
to be sincere, he would have found speech more difficult and 
language far less fluent; but there was bliss in that hopeful 
ignorance, which her confessions might have dispelled. 

Candor and fidelity are crowning virtues, which ought to 
be deified as Penates: they bring to us the respect and con- 
fidence of all others. Gerald had thought that he would 
sacrifice^ his own happiness to secure that of Lucile; but when 
the test had come, he was wavering; he was human. He 
was loth to acknowledge that he regretted his wonderful mag- 
nanimity, which was easy enough when no doubts of success 
occurred to him, 

“I ought to have confessed my love in those halcyon days, 
when her heart was stirred by tender pity. I thought I was 
controlling her; but she was leading me by an indissoluble 
chain, of which I was unconscious, Harry cannot resist her 
artless beauty and charming naivete; and if she confesses that 
she is free, he will know full well how to plead his affection.’' 


THE NOVICE. 


355 


Artless simplicity and unwavering truth are winning cards 
in the game of life. These two virtues, combined with intel- 
lect and active piety, form the highest type of womanhood. 
Can any man love an artful, frivolous woman? Coquettes 
may find admirers among those as trifling as themselves, 
but they rarely capture husbands. A false assertion brings 
its punishment in a wailing conscience and chafing chagrin. 
God does not hold such a one guiltless. 

Gerald’s repentance was sincere; and his only source of 
comfort lay in the thought that he could pray for forgiveness, 
and leave the result to God’s mercy and compassionate 
interest in erring humanity. 

He left his seat and passed out to the smoking car. How 
many troubles have vanished when breathed out in tobacco 
smoke ! Those cares may be lulled for av/hile, but they 
press with added weight when the poisonous antidote has left 
the nerves weak and inactive. 

When Gerald returned from the smoking car, he scanned 
the faces of those who occupied seats on each side of the 
aisle; he recognized one of the two men who were interested 
in the crayon picture at the Exposition. He could trace 
some resemblance to Lucile, and he supposed him to be her 
cousin; he introduced himself as her guardian. The greet- 
ings of these genial Southerners were mutually cordial. This 
Mississippian introduced the lovely bride, who sat beside him, 
as a friend of Lucile. On the long route to New Orleans, 
these two men found a topic for conversation that was equally 
interesting to both: each knew some facts concerning Col. 
Jerningham that the other did not. 

“Did he ever find his wife’s grave?” asked Gerald. 

“No; even the sexton could give no information. During 
an epidemic, the dead are buried out of sight to prevent the 
spread of contagion; the sexton failed to keep up with the 


356 


THE NOVICE. 


names and places. Their friends had left the city some time 
before, and many citizens fled at the first intimation of yellow 
fever. My uncle returned from New Orleans, looking so 
ghastly, v/e feared he had brought the contagion with him." 

Gerald informed him that Lucile knew her parents were 
both dead, and that her father did not marry Madame Lar- 
rone. He said nothing about the manner of their death; as 
such news could benefit no one, and the revelation might 
carry trouble to the informer. 

“Did Col. Jerningham take any interest in his business 
after his return?" 

“He arranged his affairs as if going on a long journey." 

“What disposition did he make of his children?" 

“The woman and the boy, who had been exposed to the 
contagion, were placed under quarantine out at his plantation. 
After that should be over, the boy was to be placed in my 
care; and when Clare graduated, she was to return to us." 

“What became of the boy?" 

“Before the quarantine was over, a foreigner came and 
took him and Madame Larrone away during a stormy night. 
No one, not even the servants, knew how or at what hour 
they left. No one suspected a nurse of kidnapping a child: 
she had not drawn her wages. The dark night favored their 
escape from the neighborhood, and they must have used 
disguises on the railroad.” 

“My uncle left without stating definitely where he was 
going, but he took a train bound for the West. We sent 
telegrams to various places in California and the territories; 
we sent detectives to look for him; hotel registers everywhere 
were examined, without finding one signature of his." 

“Probably, he was then wandering in National Park; he 
wrote to Lucile while there, and told her of a priest who was 
following him.” 


THE NOVICE. 


357 


“1 dare say he was shadowed for months by that priest.” 

“He did not intend to lose sight of your uncle until his grief 
should abate, before presenting the marriage proposition.” 

“The cunning villain !” 

“The wily impostor!” 

Both men remained silent for some time; thought was too 
intense for utterance; the little bride watched them in silent 
awe; she sat opposite to them, and could catch only a word 
here and there. She was wondering what the trouble was; 
she thought of cyclones, but when she looked out the sun was 
setting clear; no fear of a collision was depicted on the faces 
about her. She was sorry she had not asked Rufe to trust 
his money with her; for she was ^re if train robbers came, 
they would not disturb her when so many men were aboard. 

She grew nervous and fidgety; she picked up her book, but 
she could not read a line. She must do something to break 
this oppressive silence. She took out a basket of fruit, and 
offered the contents to the two men. Yes; she was right: 
they would eat fruit and talk now. After all, they must only 
have had the blues, for they had said the price of cotton had 
fallen much below the usual market value. 

From the window she saw heavy plows, drawn by two 
mules, turning the soil in deep furrows; now was her time to 
start them to talking. She ventured to ask if those hands 
were planting cotton. 

“No, my dear, it is too early to plant cotton; they are turn- 
ing over the weeds and grass before subsoiling the land.” 

She leaned back in her seat to puzzle over another conun- 
drum, subsoil. “Sub means under, and I see nothing but 
little ditches: men have such queer names for their work. I 
do wish that man had brought his wife, then I might get a 
chance to talk to Rufe myself; but la! ten to one, he, too, 
would be talking to somebody else. Well, she and I could 


358 


THE NOICE. 


talk to each other: that v/ould be some comfort to both of 
us. Rufe gets tired of runnir.g on nonsense, and what else 
do I know? I am a graduate, but Rufe says no one cares to 
talk about geometry exceyt civil engineers. V/hen 1 asked 
him why v/e girls had to study it, he said that all of my 
studies were intended to exrar d my mind so that I would 
have better judgment for everything in future life. I showed 
him a flower this morning, and he only said, ‘umph, humph !’ 
and sniffed the odor; but when I ventured to tell the class, 
order, and species of it, he said that flowers were made for 
girls and bees. Then he pulled out a newspaper and began 
to read. I know what I intend to do: I’ll read the same papers 
and books, even if 1 go to sleep over them. I must learn to 
converse sensibly with my husband, and not have to give him 
up to every intelligent man we meet. I am still puzzled about 
that word subsoiling. Sub, lower; I think that cotton is never 
planted that deep in the ground. That man has beautiful eyes; 
he would be nearly as handsome as Rufe if he had light hair, 
but his mustache is really lovely.” 

She laughed unconsciously. 

“What pleases you so much, pet?” said her husband. 

“1 wouldn’t tell you for the world.” 

She glanced at Gerald to see if he divined her thoughts; 
she blushed consciously, as if she feared that he did. 

“Secrets from me? Naughty darling!” 

Gerald wondered if love made everyone silly; then he asked 
himself if matter-of-fact people ever loved at all. He began 
to think how much he would like to pet Lucile if he dared; 
he recalled the time when he had held her long silken tresses, 
while she ministered to the poor lame boy. What a boyish 
pleasure he felt in handling those curling strands 1 

He was roused from his reverie by a question. 

“Mr. Bradford, are you married?” 


THE NOVICE. 


359 


“No; I have not succeeded in that line of business, but I 
am in the market still.” 

“Guardia'i and ward; dangerous relation,” said Mr. Bean. 

“Very romantic;” said his wife, “you will be sure to fall in 
love with each other. If you have already, do consummate 
matters while we are here. You will tell me, won’t you?” 

“We have not gone so far; but you, as a friend of both, 
must be my advocate.” 

“I know of but one difficulty in the way of your success” — 
Gerald looked up quickly — “she was desperately in love with 
a Mr. Gerald when she was in Mississippi.” 

She was surprised to see a broad smile creep over his face, 
as if he did not care if there was a rival. 

“But you need not fear that;” she continued, “girls are 
often mistaken until the right man comes along.” 

“Pet, you are well versed in love affairs for one so young; 
tell me, what was my number on your tablet of suitors?” 

“Now, Rufe,” said she, pouting, “you know very well we 
loved each other ever since we were tiny children, fussing 
over our toys.” 

“That is very true; we began early to understand the faults, 
as well as the better qualities, of each other. There was a 
tacit agreement for one to remain good-tempered in order 
to subdue the wrath of the other.” 

“We can always find excuses for our own faults;” said 
Gerald, “with you two, there will never be any resurrecting 
of latent evil, which was not suspected to exist.” 

“Pet, we will never trample upon the rights of each other; 
I promise not to pull your flowers, and you must promise 
never to spend my money.” 

“Certainly, we can grant these favors to each other.” 

“Better still,” said Gerald to her, “you can avoid any dis- 
cussion by ordering the bills to be sent to him.” 


360 


THE NOVICE. 


“Of course, we will never discuss the propriety of my send- 
ing your flowers to other women,” said her husband. 

“If you send them, I shall not be either suspicious or jeal- 
ous, I am sure.” 

“The mutual friend," said Gerald, “is often a dangerous 
person, who destroys confidence by dubious hints. Open 
statements seldom do harm. Hints are like the fall of rain 
upon the rocks: its work is slow but sure, and a wonderful 
disintegration is the result.” 

“My wife’s code of morals is based upon ‘what mamma 
said,’ and that is enough. If she was faithful to her mother, 
I know she will be true to me.” 

“A genuine test of fidelity,” said Gerald. 

“I might have been afraid of correction,” said she. 

“No; your obedience was a fixed habit.” 

“Mr. Bradford, how long will your ward remain in New 
Orleans?” 

“Like the swallows, she may be governed by the season.” 

“I do hope she will prolong her visit until ours is ended.” 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
The Real Brother. 


rT\^ WIFE is opposed to smoking,” said Rufe Bean, as 
/ I he seated himself beside Gerald, in the smoking car. 

“Perhaps she objects more to your absence from her side; 
my meerschaum is a great luxury, which is not disputed by 
any anxious wife.” 

“My wife detects the odor of tobacco on my clothes, and 
she begins sneezing at once.” 

“You already feel your little tyrant’s power.” 

“Women are our guardian — ” 

“Guardian angels, of course;” interrupted Gerald, with a 
smile, “for this is the enchanting time of your honeymoon.” 

“I was about to say that women are the guardians of our 
health as well as of our home interests.” 

“They understand how to make home pleasant as well as 
comfortable, but the inconsistent creatures scold while they 
embroider beautiful smoking jackets and caps for those who 
use the noxious weed.” 

“That shows they still love us, though they chide us.” 

“Men endure the last for the sake of the first.” 

“We appreciate their efforts to correct our evil habits.” 

“Do you see that spire glittering in the sunlight? It is a 
Catholic cathedral. The cross uplifted there is a silent 
reminder to the worshipers who assemble beneath it, that 
crossbearing with patience finds a reward above. Is it not 
strange that so many denominations have sprung up whose 
doctrines are different interpretations of the same book?” 

“Not so strange when we remember that no two of a 
family have exactly the same opinion on any subject.” 


362 


THE NOVICE. 


“One man may claim the efficacy of a single drop of water 
in baptism: another thinks a poolful necessary: both are right, 
since God did not designate the measure. The only religion 
to be gleaned from that book is the same for all: and that is 
so plain that no one can mistake its meaning: Love io God 
and love io man.'’ 

(“We cannot rely upon modes of worship for salvation: they 
are only the means of grace. Only the pure in heart shall 
see God.” 

“Where has Lucile’s brother been during these years?” 

“Father Jerome directed me to a distant orphanage, which 
he knew that Madame Larrone had visited before she left 
for Europe.” 

“Did you find him there?” 

“1 found him placed in the care of pious people, who have 
trained him morally as well as mentally.” 

“Thank God !” 

' “He will soon reach New Orleans: I did not encourage 
Lucile in the belief that he was alive: 1 could not raise false 
hopes: I waited until I was sure of his existence myself,” 

“Suppose we return to the other car.” 

“Your wife will think your absence inexcusable.” 

“But the news I carry, will drive away other thoughts.” 

Some days later there were two silent occupants in the 
private parlor of Mrs. Lewis, whose whole attention was given 
to a game that was in progress on a board between them; one 
piece after another was removed from its place without a 
word of comment from either. One moved her pieces in a 
careless, absent manner, while the other was eagerly watch- 
ing for an expected result, when Percy exclaimed joyfully, 
“Check to your king, Lucile!” while he clapped his hands. 


THE NOVICE. 


363 


“Ah, yes! I had forgotten that distant bishop, who is in 
such a threatening attitude; and now my king must take 
shelter behind this castle.” 

“Look out ! My knight is guarding that piece.” 

“Checkmate !” said a voice at the door. 

“Uncle Gerald!” cried Percy. 

Lucile sprang to her feet, upsetting the chessboard in her 
excitement. 

“Now, Lucile!” whined Percy, “I almost had that game; 
what made you turn them all over?” 

“Well, you may consider it your game.” 

“Yes, Percy;” said Gerald, “let the board and all go. 1 
want you to tell me the news.” 

“The news? You’ll have to look in the paper for news.” 

“But your father and mother are not in the papers. How 
are they?” 

“Father?” said Percy, pouting, “I call him Uncle Lewis.” 

“Why, what’s up?” 

“It is no use calling him anything else, for I am going to 
live with you and Lucile.” 

“Good, old fellow ! Let’s keep him, Lucile.” 

A provoking blush crept into the cheeks of Lucile; but she 
soon rallied, and began to pick up the chessmen one after 
another, while she said, “Yes, of course, Percy.” 

“I’ll go for mamma, and tell her you are here.” 

“Yes, do,” said Gerald. 

“Lucile, you have not welcomed me home.” 

“Well, I am delighted to see you, and glad to find you in 
good health.” 

“Thank you,” said he, taking her proffered hand, and 
bending dangerously near her face. She turned away her 
head, and put back her hand to guard her cheek from any 
possible caress. 


364 


THB NO VICE. 


“You refuse the kiss of a brother. It was a temptation, 
but you are right,” 

“Yes; I thought it was best.” 

“Well, Lucile, 1 am here; but I am very weary.” 

“Shall I order coffee?” said she, rising. 

“Oh, no; not if you have to run away, as you did before 
when I came,” 

“I will ring for a servant this time.” 

“No, not now; it is not food that I need.” 

She waited anxiously to hear what trial or annoyance had 
paled his cheek, and what trouble had added lines of care 
about his mouth. For a few moments he remained silent, 
while he sat gazing at the red coals in the grate. 

“I fear you have overtaxed your strength by too constant 
work; do let me order a refreshing cup of coffee.” 

“No, thank you.” 

“Then I must cheer you with a rehearsal of all the news 
about your friends here. Are you ready to listen?” 

“No; that is, not just now. I have come to tell you that— 
I have attended to every interest of yours here as well as 
elsewhere. I am prepared to turn over the” — he watched 
her face closely— “guardianship and all, in a few days.” 

“Gerald!” she interrupted, grasping his arm, while tears 
filled her eyes — '“Gerald, you will not do that!” 

“Do you object?” said he, smiling faintly. 

“How can you?” 

“Would you insult your future husband- — ” 

“Husband? You promised to select one for me if I would 
only wait.” 

“You have waited; then — ” 

“I thought your will was imperative,” said she, smiling. 

Gerald was not flattered by her obedience, and he did not 
return her smile. He was thinking of the information that 


THE NOVICE. 


365 


he had gathered from the two drummers, concerning Harry 
Hughes and the man he struck. 

“Then you referred Harry to me?” 

“Harry Hughes?” she asked, much surprised and more 
amused, “he has never proposed to me; but, perhaps, he 
also is waiting for your permission.” 

Gerald looked up quickly; he wondered if she intended to 
ridicule his pretended assumption of authority, or did she 
feel under some obligation to be so obedient to his expressed 
wishes. Her face bore no evidence of either scorn or resent- 
ment in its expression. 

“He defended you, on one occasion, in a manner that 
seemed to indicate that he had some very strong claims to 
your love.” 

“Yes; he did defend me, because he was your friend and 
mine too; nothing more/' 

“And a gallant defense, too;” said the Colonel entering, 
“that is, if you are talking of Hughes. An eye witness gave 
us an account of the whole affair.” 

“Harry is a grand fellow, it seems,” added Mrs. Lewis, 
holding up her lips for Gerald to kiss. 

“You two must marry right away;” said the Colonel, 
bustling about the room, and emphasizing his advice by 
rubbing his hands, “yes, marry right away, for we must leave 
here next week.” 

“I am too much of a novice to understand any love but 
that of a brother,” said Lucile, who was first to recover self- 
possession. 

“Such obstinate people! It is time to stop this child’s 
play and act with some reason,” said the Colonel. 

“Next week did you say? Then I must away, for I have 
much to do.” 

Gerald arose as he spoke, and gathered up his gloves. 


366 


THE NOVICE. 


“He who fights and runs away — ” 

But Gerald was gone. 

“Will live to fight another day,” said Mrs. Lewis, finishing 
the quotation begun by her husband. 

“Gerald is my brother by adoption; we do not care to be 
anything more,” 

“Tut, tut ! I will have to put you both in a lunatic asylum.” 

After making that threat, the Colonel left the room. 

“Lucile, your cousins are charming people; I am sorry we 
did not meet them sooner,” said Mrs. Lewis. 

“Yes; but they leave as soon as we do.” 

“I do hope you will not be persuaded to go to Mississippi 
with them.” 

“But when you go to Atlanta, I will no longer have a home 
in Georgia.” 

“You must go with us, of course.” 

“No; I cannot go there.” 

“What a goose Gerald is ! I must go and see Col. Lewis 
about your going; he will not consent for you to leave us.” 

Soon after Mrs. Lewis left the room, Percy camie in, 
whistling a merry air. 

“Lucile, I am so glad we are going home to-morrow!” 

“No; Col. Lewis and your mother leave next week.” 

“When will Uncle Gerald and you go?” 

“Very soon.” 

She could not distress the boy by alluding to her separa- 
tion from him. 

“I must be off to the post office; it is time I was getting 
a letter from Jim; he always answers my letters as soon as 
he gets them.” 

“Your uncle brought the mail.” 

“Not mine. Uncle Lewis said I must go for my own 
mail, and I am going to do it.” 


THE NOVICE. 


367 


“That IS right: a boy should learn to attend to business.” 

“Oh, I like it! and Jim’s letters are full of fun.” 

“You must make your letters interesting to him; it is wrong 
to write nonsense for anyone to read; your penmanship must 
be neat and plain, and then your letters will always be gladly 
received.” 

After a hasty, boyish kiss, he darted out and was gone. 

Lucile had found a mournful pleasure in visiting the scenes 
of earlier years, when her winters were spent in this city with 
her parents and her brother. 

Now they were gone; not even a grave could be found that 
bore the names of her beloved dead, where she could heap 
lovely flowers. To-day she felt no inclination to join her 
cousins in their tour through the city. She had visited all of 
the curiosities of the place before they came. And she must 
//?/>?/: before she consulted them about going to Mississippi. 
She dared not look into the future by conjecturing what life 
held in store for her. 

“The darkest hour is just before dawn.” She wondered if 
this quotation applied to the spiritual as well as to the natural 
world. Would a bright day ever dawn for her? She was 
lonely, desolate, useless. The thought was too oppressive for 
endurance; she must venture forth into the open air; but she 
must go entirely alone. Not to the park: the merriment of 
friends whom she might meet there would jar upon her dis- 
trait nerves. If her own brother had only been spared! 

“Why, 0 Father? I must not question his goodness or his 
mercy, but trust” 

She had ‘avoided the public thoroughfares and the fash- 
ionable avenues, for those quiet streets where the families 
of business men live in partial retirement. She looked at 
these peaceful homes with a feeling akin to envy. Happy 
people ! Even the children, plainly dressed, romping in the 


368 


THE NOVICE. 


grassy yards, seemed far happier than those children who 
were fettered by heavier, richer garments, and were pulled 
here and there by heartless nurses, to be jostled and trampled 
in a crowded park. 

Here, where she walked, there was nothing to pity; nothing 
to point out a trial worse than her own. She walked on slowly, 
aimlessly, without knowing whither she went. She sighed 
deeply; it was almost a sob. She was not conscious that 
that steps were hurrying over the stony pavement behind 
her. Nearer, nearer, now she heard them; but she felt no 
curiosity to look back. What were strangers to her? 

“Lucile, dear, you here?” and her hand was lifted and 
placed upon the arm of Gerald. She had not resisted the 
movement; for she knew his voice, though her eyes were 
blinded by tears. 

“Do you see that dark cloud? See there! a drop of rain.” 

Instinctively he pressed her hand closer, as if the miovement 
would afford protection from the rain, which was beginning 
to fall faster now. 

“I am glad that 1 found you in time.” 

Just then the cab that he had previously hailed, drew up 
to the sidewalk near them. 

“In tears, too,” said he, as the wind blew back her veil. 

“Wouldn’t you cry, too, if you were lost in a strange city?” 

“I would hail a policeman and inquire about directions.” 

“But I did not see one.” 

“Lucile, there are more traces of sorrow than of fear on 
your face. Why not confide in me? You know that you 
have my sympathy in every sorrow.” 

“You were not present when those sad thoughts came to 
me. I was so lonely ! not even a grave to weep over.” 

“A grave contains only the clay that the spirit left when it 
was clothed with an immortal body. That spirit may float 


THE NOVICE. 


369 


near you when you are in distress; or it may bask continually 
in the glorious presence of God, and hold communion with 
those dear ones who went before.” 

“That thought should drive away the terror of death and 
the horror of the grave.” 

“You will see your dear ones at some future time, but not 
now: you are needed here in this world.” 

She was silent, wondering where she would be needed. 

“See! the rain increases. Where do you wish to go?” 

“Home.” 

“Home? 1 am glad you wish to go kome. We will go 
to-morrow or the next day. Circumstances vdll determine 
the time.” 

“Gerald, I meant the hotel.” 

“I meant our home; but 1 have another visit for you now.” 

“But the weather; and I have been crying.” 

“No matter; your face looks sweeter when it has been 
washed with tears.” 

“Now, you don’t mean that.” 

“Yes; I was in earnest.” 

The cab stopped. 

“This is Father Jerome’s, is it not?” 

Before he could reply, the cab door was opened, and he 
handed her out. Father Jerome’s placid face beamed with 
unusual smiles as he greeted his expected visitors. 

“I could not be deterred by the weather.” 

“I am very glad that you came.” 

Father Jerome related to Lucile the history of her parents, 
from the time that she left New Orleans for college, up to 
the sad ending. 

Lucile bore her sorrows with the fortitude of a Christian 
who knows that the bitter past cannot be remedied, and that 
the future is filled with bright promises and fadeless rewards. 


370 


THE NOVICE. 


Lucile did not restrain her tears: tears are soothing to 
the tortured heart and the tired brain. The tender, loving 
words of consolation from Gerald were like balm to her 
crushed heart. The darkest hour had come, and passed; she 
was no longer in doubt; the future was dawning hopefully: 
she knew that Gerald loved her. 

^ “Father Jerome, why did you not tell me all this before?” 

“The confessional reveals no secrets that are deposited 
there. When the bishop of this diocese refused his permis- 
sion, then Mr. Bradford appealed to his holiness, the Pope.” 

“Gerald!” but she found no words to say more. 

“1 have not told you all: you vnll have only a half interest 
in that estate,” said the priest. ' ' ^ — — ■ 

Then he turned and left the room. 

“That was arranged so by my special request,” said Lucile. 

As she spoke, she turned her blushing face toward Gerald. 

“Yes;” said Gerald, smiling at her mistake, “you will have 
to furnish my cigars yet.” 

“Gerald, you have been such a kind friend to me that 1 
would object to no amount of fees for all your trouble and 
expensive tours in my behalf. Before 1 knew the object of 
your trip, 1 had decided to give you half of the estate to be 
used in your benevolent schemes.” 

“As for fees, which you speak of, no money is due for the 
performance of one’s duty. If 1 take any reward, not fee, it 
must be one far more valuable than the whole estate.” 

His voice sank to a low, tender tone. She was waiting 
with bowed head. 

“It must be your love !” 

She looked up quickly and replied with a smile. 

“You need not have taken so much trouble, for you had 
that before; and you knew it in spite of all my efforts to con- 
ceal the fact.” 


THE NOVICE. 


371 


Father Jerome had entered; but he was unperceived until 
he said, “Here is the other heir.” 

Before Lucile had time to comprehend his meaning, her 
brother had clasped her in his arms. The meeting between 
the sister and the brother, who had been so long separated, 
was beyond description. The lost was found. 

“Why didn’t you faint, Lucile?” said Gerald, when the 
meeting was over, “1 was ready to clasp you in my arms, and 
hold you until you came back to consciousness.” 

“I suppose I was more matter-of-fact than sentimental.” 

“And more sensible,” added the priest. 

After expressing unlimited gratitude to Father Jerome, 
the happy trio bade the old nhan good-by. He wept when 
he embraced the boy, who had endured so much, and had 
remained pure and good through it all. 

The next morning Col. Lewis walked into the parlor, where 
Gerald and Mrs. Bradford sat discussing the various incidents 
that had occurred during Gerald’s long absence. 

“Gerald,” said his uncle, seating himself, “my law busi- 
ness demands an immediate return to Atlanta.” 

“Well’, what delays you here?” 

“Delay? Do you think that I will leave Lucile here?” 

“Does she wish to remain?” 

“She refuses to go with us to Atlanta, and she can’t go to 
Rome now.” 

“Why not?” 

“Now, Gerald, you know she cannot go now; that is. unless 
she goes to a private boarding house. Why, what would the 
gossips say?” 

“She will not go to a boarding house.” 

“But, Gerald, at a hotel she would need a chaperon.” 

“She will not go there, either.” 

“But the scandal it might create.” 


372 


THE NOVICE. 


“Mary, my opinions differ from yours, as usual. I think 
that my wife would not be expected to live anywhere else 
except in my home.” 

“Wife? You must be jesting.” 

“She soon will be my wife.” 

“How in the world did you two manage to settle it?” 

“I was afraid of that lunatic asylum,” said Lucile, who 
entered in time to hear the last question. 

“1 thought both of you were pledged to ask no questions.'' 

“1 adhered strictly to my promise,” said Gerald, laughing. 

“I am sure that I did to mine,” said Lucile. 

“No proposal? What about the love-making?” 

“No vows or protestations are necessary to express the 
strength and duration of our love; for the future will be one 
continued love story, which Lucile may transcribe for you 
some day.” 


The End. 





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